Ours is a Roller Coaster Love
by badrefrigerator
Summary: A series of unrelated oneshots of Draco/Harry. Thirty day challenge. When Draco kisses him for the first time, he decides that Harry James Potter tastes of summer.
1. Tremble

**Tremble**

Everything shimmers and breaks and for a moment it looks as though things are going their way, as if the Aurors have everything under control and it will only take a couple minutes of hard fighting before Marc Bernard and his cohorts are properly arrested - colours fly, hexes swirl through the air, and there is more than one frantic shout of the Killing Curse.

Harry is in the middle of it all, whirling this way and that to dodge the curses - his wand an extension of his arm as he catches a redhead off guard and watches him fall to the ground, writhing.

"Fucking nice one!" calls a voice and Harry turns and he grins wickedly as his eyes meet gray ones from across the fighting. Even in the middle of this chaos he can spot Malfoy, has always been able to spot Malfoy, will always be able to spot Malfoy.

"What's that - four?" he shouts back, and his grin widens. There's nothing better than the adrenaline of a fight, than the rush that accompanies flying spells and harsh shouts. "I'm gonna win that bet and you'd better be fucking ready!"

He barely catches the sight of Malfoy's scowl before he's back to fighting and everything is a blur around him, moving faster and faster and his wand arm is starting to get tired and the mirth has now left his eyes, leaving behind the fierce determination in his eyes that has frightened so many men before now.

It has been only four years since he became an official Auror - only four years since training, where he and Malfoy were paired together and forced to undergo activities of forced bonding and fake battles and had finally learned to stop being such arses to each other and get along for once. It had been in training that Malfoy had taught him how to smoke -

_("Hold it like this, don't inhale too much or you're going to choke and I refuse to clean up your vomit, you fucker - Wait - stop -" A pause and then a mildly impressed look crossed his face before suddenly Malfoy was scowling, "Do you have to be better at me than everything, Potter? Fuck you, you'd better not go around stealing my cigarettes," which he did, all the time, much to Malfoy's chagrin and annoyance and only slight amusement)_

And it had been in training that Malfoy had taught him how to conceal himself better than anything else -

_("Malfoy," hesitation, "I - Well, I mean -"_

"_Just spit it out already."_

"_I need your help."_

_Sputtered laughter, shocked expression. "Bet it was hard to get that one out, Potter."_

"_Stop being a prick; you know I'm not going to pass this test without you, you're the best one at concealment."_

"_Must be genetic."_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_My - cousin -"_

"_Tonks?"_

_Another longer pause, narrowed eyes. "That's the one."_

_A loud sigh. "Malfoy, don't make me say please. I'm buggered without this; do you know how humiliating it will be to get all the way through Auror training and then fail because I can't make myself look like a plant? It'll mean -"_

"_Okay."_

"_- and Hermione has been - okay?"_

"_Stop gaping, it doesn't become you.")_

And it had been in training that Malfoy had taught him how to fuck - not make love, but truly fuck, hard and desperate and gasping for air with everything raw and cut open and left to bleed -

_("Harder - go - fuck, Malfoy - yeah, right there -"_

"_Who knew," thrust, "you were so fucking," thrust, "vocal during sex?"_

"_Nng - more, give it to me, yeah, go, Malfoy," and then there is nothing but harsh pants and deep groans and the sound of flesh hitting flesh as the cabin they're supposed to be hiding in shakes with their relentless movement. They had been waiting in this same cabin for three days for sign of life before giving into the tension crackling between them - and now Harry sees white as Malfoy's cock hits that one special spot and everything, for the moment, is perfect.)_

Time had moved in sharp, quick currents since then, nothing but long missions and too much paperwork and hiding their relationship - though, as Malfoy likes to frequently point out, there isn't much of a relationship, other than fucking. Of course there are moments of sweet kissing and bringing coffee to one another and sharing locked gazes, but those are the rarities, those are the brief flashes of abnormality spread out throughout snarky comments and sharp bites and pushing each other to their limits.

Now, Harry ducks and rolls underneath a brilliant green light, feeling it singe the top of his hair as he comes back up, breathing hard. There is something to be said for fighting Muggle style as he kicks out and catches the other man by surprise, his one kick allowing him enough of an in to bind him with a quick _Incarcerous_and leave him in the dust.

"Oi! What was our bet again?" asks Malfoy as suddenly he and Harry are back to back and shooting off spells with deadly aim, and Harry spares a brief second to glance back at Malfoy because he's always loved him like this - flushed and sweat-covered and sneering down his enemies. A sneer that once was aimed at Harry, a sneer that now only comes out for witty comments and when Harry makes the tea too weak.

"You forgot?" laughed Harry, and it seems impossible that he can laugh in the middle of a duel but Malfoy's always made the impossible come true about him so he simply shakes his head and aims another spell at a masked man. "Wanker. Whoever takes out the most people gets free Firewhiskey at the Dragon's Breath. That's six for me," and he watches with a pleased expression as another one of Bernard's minions falls to the dust.

"Fuck," growls out Malfoy and then they're separated again, each lost in their own battle as the heat engulfs them.

There is only one memory Harry can remember where Malfoy truly let down his guard - where Malfoy truly became _Draco_, if only for one evening. Narcissa, who had been diagnosed with Dragon Pox, had passed away only three days previous when Draco appeared at Harry's flat, gaunt and pale and wordless.

His eyes had said it all - and Harry had drawn him inside, holding him close and feeling his heart beat rapidly next to his own; everything had felt, for once, slow - too slow, as if they were swimming in molasses, drowning in quicksand, and Harry had pulled him into his room and lain him on the bed and had slowly removed his clothes, painfully careful with each item. First the shirt, and Harry had lapped at his stomach, had kissed his way up naval, sucked lightly on each nipple.

Then each shoe and sock and Harry had massaged each foot, had kissed each delicate toe. Then his trousers and here Harry has pressed his nose into Draco's dark green pants, inhaling the musky scent that he was presented with and kissing Draco's inner thigh with all the softness of a lover.

And Draco, who had always been in control even when he wasn't, had always held a fragment of himself close even when fucking Harry into a wall, had trembled, had shivered and quaked underneath Harry's gentle touches - and when Harry had finally kissed him, slow and deep, his tongue delivering comfort as it swept into Draco's hot mouth, Draco had trembled like a leaf in the wind, fragile and broken and all Harry's.

That night had been love, that night had been a _relationship._

And the next day it had all been gone. Back to where they had been before, back to a shallow fuck-buddy friendship, back to Auror partners and nothing more.

And now Harry is back once more in the battle and he growls as someone tries to hit him with something deadly and he glances around and spits a curse as he realises that, despite his six wins, the Aurors are starting to be overwhelmed - that things aren't turning out how they're supposed to be - they're _losing _-

And Harry glances back and spots Draco in furious battle with a dark-haired man and he realises with a sharp pang in his stomach that he wants that relationship, he wants that love in Draco's eyes and that tremble as they kiss -

And just for a moment Draco glances back to find Harry and their eyes are locked and gray is melting with green and - and then there's a bright flash and suddenly blood is pouring out of Draco from his chest and he's looking down horrified and it's the bathroom scene all over again except this time it's not Harry's fault and this time there is no Snape to save the day and this time Harry loves Draco more than fucking anything -

Before he can think, he's at Draco's side and snarling, _"Avada Kedrava," _and the man who is responsible for it is dead -

"You're going to be okay," says Harry as he drops to the ground and clutches at Draco and he can barely see anything through these fucking tears - "You're going to be fine, I'm going to Apparate you to St. Mungo's, just hold on to me -"

"Harry," says Draco weakly and his eyes flutter, his hand reaching weakly to hold onto Harry's robes. "Harry, stop."

"Don't tell me to stop - don't _fucking tell me to stop!" _and a sob is ripping through his chest and he's clutching at Draco harder than anything he's ever held before and he can see the light leaving Draco's eyes, he can _see it -_

"Harry, I love you,"

And then Harry's bending down and kissing and crying and the battle is still raging on above their heads and he can feel Draco trembling - can feel him shaking - can feel him dying - and then it's over.

And he kisses him

And it's over

And he kisses

And he whispers, "I love you," and it's too late.

* * *

**a/n:** hello readers! Christine here with a thirty-day writing challenge in tow (which I most likely won't complete but hush). this one is dedicated to Ariel who chose Aurors and angst and also 1800 words (which I... sort of got to). I'm gonna see how good I am about getting to the end of this challenge, but definitely don't expect one every day cus I have a **life.** (jk)


	2. Thanks

**Thanks**

or

_Seven Times Draco Malfoy Said Thank You to Harry Potter_

**i.**

The dust is still floating through the air at Hogwarts, people are still mourning over their dead, Potter is still probably handing out signed autographs and locks of his hair - and Draco is still sitting in the midst of it all, completely unable to move from his seat in the Great Hall.

"Draco, Draco, darling, you look so deathly pale - let me go get you something to eat," insists Narcissa as she strokes his hair. Her fingers feel quick and light as they comb through the pale strands and he unconsciously leans into her hand, seeking her warmth.

"I'm not hungry," he says in a low voice, closing his eyes. "Please don't go out of your way for me -"

"It'll only take a minute, darling, I promise," she says, and she leans in, pressing a kiss to his forehead and then standing up gracefully from the table and striding away with purpose in her step.

Lucius and Draco watch her go. Silence stretches on between them and Draco wants to tell his father how much he's glad that he's still alive, that they're still a family, but it seems to get caught in his throat (and there is that tiny voice in his head whispering that this was all Lucius' fault, that none of this would've happened without his stupid fucking Purist ideas) and -

"I -" begins Lucius.

"I'm going to go walk around," says Draco at the same moment.

They stare at each other awkwardly and then Draco is pushing away from the table and walking away without glancing back and then he's out in a corridor by himself and breathing heavily and he's not quite sure why. "Fuck," he says, and he stares a wall and wants to kick it but even now his Slytherin self-preservation won't allow it.

"Fuck," he says again.

"Oh, is that what you came out here to do?" asks a conversational voice and Draco whirls, eyes widening as he sees Potter walking straight up towards him.

Draco can't think of anything witty to say. "No. Just - needed fresh air."

Potter comes to a stop in front of Draco and his mouth twists a little bit and his eyes flicker amusement behind his dirty glasses but he doesn't say anything more, just holds something out for Draco to take.

"What is - oh."

It's his wand.

The same wand that had been snatched out of his hands at the Manor, the same wand that had been used so recently to vanquish the Dark Lord. His fingers are only an inch away from touching it when suddenly he jerks his hand back as if burned, glancing up at Potter with a defensive glare on his face. "Is this some sort of fucking _joke_?"

Potter stares at him with obvious confusion as even a - was that a flash of _hurt _on his face? But no, it is gone a moment later and he pushes the wand at Draco again, his mouth an insistent frown. "Take it. It's yours. No joke."

"You know it won't work for me any more," says Draco, crossing his arms against his chest and sneering at the wand that had betrayed him. "It chose you." And why wouldn't it? Potter had clearly proven himself the better of the two, the stronger, the more noble -

"I have my own wand," says Potter and he pulls out the wand that Draco has seen a thousand times, that has been aimed at Draco so many times, and it's true that that wand looks much more comfortable in Potter's hand than Draco's ever did. Hesitatingly he reaches out, uncrossing his arms and allowing Potter to slide Draco's wand into his hand and it feels as though a wave of relief has crashed over Draco as he clenches his wand in his hand.

"It _is_ mine," murmurs Draco in slight awe, and he can tell, he can feel its happiness at being reuniting with his proper master and he glances up just in time to see Potter smiling at him - an actual _smile _that shocks Draco and sends warmth shooting abruptly into his stomach.

"See you around," says Potter amiably and he brushes easily past Draco, sliding his hands into his pockets and moving with the familiar shuffle of his feet that Draco has watched for six years of Hogwarts.

He stares down at his wand and he feels something hot burning his eyes because the war is finally over and - he whirls around, calling out, "Potter!" before he can even think and then Potter is turning halfway around and lifting his eyebrows questioningly and Draco says, "Thank you."

Potter smiles again, more widely this time, and nods once before turning back around and shuffling on.

**ii.**

The chains cut into Draco's arms and he tries not to panic because he can't move, can't even move an inch, and everyone is _staring at him _-

"First witness," rings out into the silent court room and Draco flinches. Who the hell is going to witness in favour of a former Death Eater? He can feel the skin on the back of his neck crawl as a heavy silence spreads throughout the room and he knows everyone hates him, knows everyone is judging him for things he could never control.

"Harry James Potter," says a nonchalant male voice, and Draco stares as a raven-haired man steps forward. He swallows tightly, eyes raking over Potter because it's been only six weeks since his wand was returned to him but Potter looks different - looks _older_, more mature, as though he's come to terms with several things in his life since Draco last saw him. And then suddenly Potter is talking and his words fill the room, everyone staring as the Boy Saviour talks about Draco -

- talks about how Draco didn't kill Dumbledore when he had the chance -

- talks about how Draco was threatened on the death of himself and his family -

- talks about how Draco didn't recognise him at the Manor -

- talks about Narcissa, about Narcissa saving his life and therefore saving all of the Wizarding World, a tale that Draco has never heard and his heart is beating faster and faster with each word out of Potter's mouth and he is not the only one entranced by Potter's tale, he knows, but he is the only one that Potter is looking at as time passes.

And then everything is a flurry of movement and people are voting and speaking and Draco can't seem to take his eyes off Potter's form, and then suddenly his eyes snap to the Head of the Wizengamot as the ancient man reads out in a rumbly voice, "Draco Abraxas Malfoy, you are sentenced to three years of probation in which any illegal activity will immediately result in a direct sentence to Azkaban. You are also not allowed on any grounds to leave England and it is a requirement that you attend Hogwarts for the eighth year program set up for any seventh years returning." And then there is a bang and Draco jumps in his seat as the chains abruptly clink away and he sits there for a moment before shakily getting to his feet, legs trembling.

"I am… dismissed?" he asks, but everyone ignores him, already turning to their neighbor to discuss what his sentence is and all that Potter said - and so he turns to the closest door and slowly walks out of it and stands there for a long moment, unsure of what has happened.

"Fuck," he finally says, and then there's laughter behind him and he turns slowly to see Potter watching him from just a few feet away.

"Is that what you always say when you're by yourself?" he asks, a small grin flitting across his face.

"No - it's just what I say when you happen to be watching me," returns Draco automatically, eyes flickering curiously. "What you did back there -"

Potter shrugs. "I just told the truth."

"Still," says Draco, jutting his chin out adamantly. "You didn't have to."

"Did you not want me to?" questions Potter, stepping closer and into the light. Draco was right - he has changed. His face, his eyes, it's all different.

"No," says Draco quietly. "I just didn't expect you to."

There is a pause and then Potter sighs. "The war is over, Malfoy."

And he's moving past Draco once more, leaving him to go to another trial (there are so many of them that not a day goes by without at least three happening right on top of each other) and he's just barely reached the door when Draco swallows his pride once more and utters, "Thank you."

Potter pauses at the door, not looking back this time, and then sighs again. "See you at Hogwarts."

**iii.**

"_Impedimenta_! _Expelliarmus_!" and Draco is thrown to his feet and he scrambles, trying to get his bearings but his wand has already left his wand and he jumps to his feet, snarling and completely defenseless.

"Give it back," he spits, his bag dangling lopsidedly from one shoulder and his robes ripped from where he fell on them. "I'm just - fuck -"

"Shouldn't have come back, should you?" sneers one of them, and there are five of them total, all circling him with dangerously dark looks and wands pointed directly at his chest. "Should have stayed away, _Death Eater."_

"Fuck off," spits Draco, and perhaps it's not the smartest thing to say when surrounded because the next thing he knows he's been blasted onto his back and his head is ringing from the pain.

"Go running back to your daddy in Azakaban," calls one of them, and Draco jerks as a Stinging Hex lands on his side, sending pulsing currents of pain running through him. "You don't deserve to have a bed here or stare into the faces of those you hurt -"

"And you don't deserve to bully innocent people around whenever you feel like it," says a cold voice and Draco looks up from his place on the ground, heart leaping painfully in his chest as he spots the feet of Harry Potter.

Saving him once more.

"Harry!" says one of the boys and Draco scowls at him. _You don't know him well enough to call him that, _he thinks angrily, even though, well, he doesn't either. "We were just -"

"I can see what you were doing," says Potter, voice still taut with fury. "And he's here because it's part of his sentencing, so don't go fucking with him because of it. He's been punished enough; _leave him._"

There is a brief scrabbling and then the boys all start tripping over each other to leave - and Potter is saying, "I'll take that," and then there is silence. Draco stares at the ground for a long moment, wondering if Potter is going to leave as well - and then, "Hey."

He looks up through sweat-soaked fringe to see Potter's hand held out for him to take, right in Draco's sight line. Swallowing, Draco takes it, watching as Potter's arm contracts as he heaves him up - and then they're standing directly next to each other and Draco realises that he is just barely taller than Potter, just enough that (if he wanted to) he could tease him about it.

The courtyard feels too hot.

"This is yours," says Potter abruptly and he shoves Draco's wand in his direction, taking a subtle step back so that they're not nose to nose any more. "Sorry about that; people are pricks."

"Yeah," says Draco, licking his lips. His mouth is dry. "You didn't -"

"Have to do that, I know," says Potter wryly. His eyes are smiling behind his glasses. "So you keep telling me."

"Yeah well," mutters Draco, looking away with an embarrassed flush. What a nice reminder that Potter has to continuously save his arse. "I could have handled that. I do it all the time." And it's true; it's November and eighth year has been going on for nearly three months - and at least once a week, he's been attacked for what he formerly was.

Potter looks troubled at that. "You do? I didn't know -"

"You don't know everything that goes on at Hogwarts, Potter."

"I know _that_," says Potter testily. "But why haven't you told anyone? Someone - a professor, Hermione, me - we would have done something to stop it."

"I'm not some damsel in distress," Draco mutters. "I don't need saving for every problem that comes my way."

"Yeah, but you're not alone either," says Potter and now he looks angry at Draco as well and they stand there for a moment, glaring at each other before Draco looks away.

It's hard and he doesn't want to say it but it comes out anyway, grudging and borderline sarcastic. "Thank you."

When he glances back, Potter looks surprised. "You're getting worse at saying that each time you say that, you know."

Draco hesitates and then smiles, just barely, just half-a-smile, but it is the first time he's ever smiled at Potter - and indeed, the first time he's really smiled since coming back to Hogwarts at all. All the eighth years have been crammed in the same common room and the only other Slytherin to come back was Nott, who doesn't seem very interested in spending quality bonding time with Draco (or anyone, really). It's been a lonely year so far and he hates Potter for being the one to make him smile but he smiles anyway. "I know."

**iv**.

Draco sighs to himself as he enters the Great Hall in late November, only a week after Potter saved him from his tormentors - and he scans the tables with a moody gaze, knowing that there is nowhere for him to sit. Like always. There are the four separate house tables, of course - and he usually just sits at Slytherin, even though they all ignore him now - but there is also a fifth, circular table in the corner for all the eighth years that choose not to sit with their former houses. He's never sat there before, never even considered it, and now, for some inexplicable reason, he finds himself turning to that table and slowly walking towards it, mind unwilling but feet moving anyway.

There is, of course, the Golden Trio sitting in their usual spots - because for some reason, Potter doesn't seem to like to sit at the Gryffindor table (too much crowding, probably), and then there is Finnigan and Thomas, Terry Boot and Hannah Abbott, Padma Patil and her twin, Neville Longbottom, Something Macmillan - and someone that Draco has never noticed sitting here before, Theodore Nott.

He blinks. Since when has Nott been sitting at the eighth year table?

Only, now that he thinks about it - he actually hasn't spotted Nott sitting at the Slytherin table this entire time either. Has he made a mistake by isolating himself? Has Nott been able to do what Draco never could - integrate himself with the other houses?

Slowly, cautiously, Draco approaches and swallows hard before dropping his bag to the floor and sitting down in one of the spare seats. He stares at the table and then glances up at the silence that meets his ears - and flushes as he hears Finnigan whisper loudly, "What the hell is he doing here?"

He should go. He should just leave - just continue sitting at the far end of the Slytherin table by himself where no one can bother him, but dammit, he's so fucking _lonely_, and eating three silent meals by himself for the past three months has taken its toll on him -

"What are you doing, Harry?" asks Ron, interrupting Draco's harassed thoughts, and Draco looks up again, blinking as he finds Potter standing right next to him.

"Potter," he said hesitantly.

"Draco," says Potter, and he thrusts his hand out, his chin clenched with determination, his eyes flashing with expectation. "I'm Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you."

They stare at each other for a long moment, silent understanding passing between them, and then Draco slowly reaches out and takes Potter's hand, feeling the roughness and the calluses that come from playing Quidditch, and shivering as Potter purposely grips his hand hard and stares into his eyes. "Draco Malfoy."

And then Potter (HarryPotterHarryPotter_Harry_) smiles, that entrancing smile that has bewitched so many people before Draco and he's returning to his seat and there is another beat of silence before Longbottom loudly introduces a subject about classes and Draco is left by himself to eat in peace.

He pulls a bowl of potatoes towards him and then looks up across the table to look curiously at Potter (Harry) and finds the Gryffindor staring back at him. Draco bites his lip, looks around to make sure no one is watching, and then mouths, _"Thank you."_

From then on, he sits at the eighth year table and things aren't quite as lonely as before.

**v**.

"I - come on - God dammit -" grits out Draco in frustration as he stands on his tiptoes and strains to reach the book he needs, which is conveniently located directly at the top of the shelf. "Just a little fucking more -"

"Language, Malfoy," says Harry from behind him mildly and then, "_Accio _book," and said object flies out of the shelf and lands easily in Harry's hand. "Here you go."

"Thanks," grumbles Draco and he turns, ignoring Harry as he walks back to his table.

But Harry follows. "Why didn't you have your wand?"

"I _do_ have my wand - right there," says Draco, pointing to the innocent stick which is laying on top of another stack of books. "Just didn't think I would need it for one damn book. Typical."

"So, people haven't been -" Harry hesitates and then Draco rolls his eyes.

"No, they haven't. Word got around that someone would maim them dreadfully if they did, apparently. Mmm, wonder who the hell could have started a rumour like _that._"

Harry smiles, appearing satisfied with this news, and then drops into the seat opposite Draco, obviously getting comfortable. "Good. I'm glad. What're you working on?"

"Potions."

"Really?" perks up Harry and Draco looks up, lifting his eyebrows with a questioning look that anyone other than Snape would ever sound excited about Potions. "It's just because I haven't finished that essay either and I was needing some help?"

Draco sighs. "Bloody hell - _fine_."

"Great!" beams Harry. "I'll just go get it - I had a table over there - be right back -" And then he's gone, back in a flash and dumping all his things next to Draco without prelude. "And, also, have you figured out those Transfiguration questions because -"

"Because they're due in one period," points out Draco with a dry expression, sitting back in his chair and watching with growing amusement and slight alarm as Harry successfully spreads his things all over the table - and conveniently pushing Draco's out of the way. "What happened to you just using Granger for all your study needs?"

Harry's frantic digging through his things quells as he comes up triumphantly with a quill and then he makes a face at Draco's question. "She's with Ron all the time - now that they're _together. _They like… doing things."

"Oh - ew, I did not need that mental image, thanks a lot, Potter," says Draco, his face matching Harry's and for a moment they just sit like that for a moment, sharing their equal disgust. Then Draco makes a move to drag his parchment forward and Harry shuffles his books around and the moment dissipates. "Anyway, it's not like you really need this," continues Draco nonchalantly. "It's automatically guaranteed that you'll get into the Auror training program."

"Yeah, well… maybe I don't want to be an Auror," mutters Harry lowly, and Draco looks up, surprised.

"Why not?"

And Harry digs a nail into the wooden table, staring pointedly at it and pursing his lips before suddenly Draco gets it. He _gets_ it. "Oh. Because… you've already had enough fighting."

Harry jerks his head up. "How did you know?"

Draco shrugs awkwardly. "Aren't we all tired of fighting?"

And then Harry is smiling that little smile of his at Draco again and to distract himself from the warm feeling in his stomach, Draco forces himself to ask: "What about the girl Weasley? You could be studying with her. We're technically in the same year now. Sort of."

"She's with Dean," shrugs Harry, not looking bothered by this in the least.

Draco is, once again, surprised. "You don't care?"

"Why should I? We haven't been dating for months now."

"I just thought…. After the war. You two. Happily ever after and all."

"I learned a few things about myself during the war," says Harry, laughing. "One of them was that I didn't fancy women. Ginny wasn't offended. In fact, she took it remarkably well."

"Oh," says Draco, blinking, and then, "Oh."

Harry looks at him, eyes curious. "Do you care?"

"What - I - no," sputters Draco, looking pointedly away as the tips of his ears flush dark red. "Most wizards are anyway, or at least have a fling here or there -"

"Are you?" interrupts Harry with a twinkling in his eyes.

Draco narrows his eyes. "We're here for _Potions_, Potter. Either stop distracting me, or go somewhere else. And don't expect me to thank you every time you Accio a book for me, also, that was a one time thing."

Silence falls and then Draco distinctly hears Harry murmur, "Sure it was."

**vi.**

Draco breathes in the night air that is currently skating over the empty Quidditch pitch, loving the scents it drags towards him. Dew-covered grass, cold winter, tauntingly sharp air. He feels a smirk (and hasn't it been a while since one of _those_ crossed his face?) start to grow and he grips his broom tighter with one hand as cold grass crunches behind him.

"I can hear you, you know," he says, and he hears a muttered curse. "Are you following me again?"

"No," says Harry petulantly as he comes up beside Draco. He's holding his own broom and decked out in Quidditch gear and his hair is so black it's almost blue, framing his face in the night. "Just -" he shifts edgily, "One of the worst things about being an eighth year is not getting our own Quidditch team."

"I see people playing informally all the time, though," pointed out Draco. "You could join them. Finnigan, Thomas, Weasley - every fucking free period they're down here, making a God awful amount of noise."

Harry shrugged. "You could too."

"I like the dark better."

"So do I."

"Or you just like stalking me."

"Seeker's match?"

"Sure."

And then they're both simultaneously mounting their brooms and kicking off and Draco can see that Harry's somehow brought a Snitch with him and where the hell did he even get that?

"Ready?" Harry calls and he grins fiercely at Draco's nod, letting the Snitch go and then they both just sit there in mid-air for a moment, watching each other and was it Draco's imagination or did something flutter in between them, did something whisper through the night air as green eyes locked with gray? And then, just barely audible, Harry says, "Go," and they're off, zooming and twisting and suddenly they're not even searching for the Snitch, they're just both showing off and flying circles around each other and if Draco didn't know any better, he would almost say that they were _dancing._

"BET I - CAN GO - HIGHER," shouts Harry and they're laughing and breathless and darting higher and higher until there is nothing between them and the sky, until they are the highest beings at Hogwarts, in England, in the world.

Suddenly, Draco spots it.

There.

And he's zooming down, down, flying so fast that his robes are flat against his skin and his hair's rippling in the wind and he can hear Potter shouting curses at his back and his hand is outstretched and it's just a few feet away and Harry is on his tail, almost there, right there -

Draco's hand closes around the Snitch.

He doesn't notice how close he is to the ground until he's there and he just barely pulls up, too sharply, and rolls of his broom five feet off the ground, landing in a roll and an _'Oof!' _and a pained grunt.

"Draco - DRACO -" Harry lands far more smoothly than Draco did, running after him with a face full of worry. "You fucking idiot, did you break anything?"

Draco laughs. He laughs and laughs. "I caught it - look, Potter, look who caught it - when there's no one around to see, no one around to notice." He holds the Snitch high into the air, holding it awkwardly as he's still laying on the ground, and sighs happily as Harry stares down at him.

"You're mad," Harry finally decides. "Completely barking."

Once again he is hauling Draco off the ground.

Once again they are face to face. "Thank you," says Draco, and Harry blinks.

"For what? I didn't let you catch it, you know. You did that all on your own."

"I know," smiles Draco.

He is finally getting better at thanking Potter.

**vii.**

It is Easter break and everyone is gone, it seems - Draco would have gone too, but his mother wrote at the last moment, telling him that it would be best for him to stay at Hogwarts. He knows she's trying to keep away the nightmares, knows she knows just how much returning to the Manor scares him - and he won't admit to anyone just how grateful he is that she's provided him with an excuse to stay.

It helps that Harry is staying too.

It is the third day of break and Draco is wandering around the empty corridors of Hogwarts, feeling melancholy and wistful and longing for something he doesn't want to examine too closely - and then suddenly he's not alone and there is a boy walking next to him, neither one speaking.

They walk like this for some time, both content not to speak and then suddenly Harry stops and he's looking at Draco with dark green eyes, his expression anxious.

"Where's Hermione and Ron?" asks Draco to break the silence, feeling uncomfortable.

"Probably snogging somewhere," says Harry dismissively. "Draco -"

"I would've thought you would go home for break," interrupts Draco, looking away. "To Weasley's house, at least."

Harry pauses. Chews on his lip for a moment. Debated internally. Then, "I knew you were staying."

Draco looks up at him sharply, eyes flashing surprise and confusion and suspicion. "How?"

Harry obviously did not expect this rebuttal. "Umm… I asked you about it, remember? In the library. Six days ago."

Oh. Right. After their midnight Quidditch game - no, before that - after the day in the library, suddenly Draco had found himself shadowed by this tall Gryffindor, always with the excuse that Hermione and Ron were snogging or studying or doing something without him - and it occurs to Draco just now that Harry must have been lying at least some of the time, because he knows Granger and Weasley would never shun their best mate that much, not all the time.

Library study sessions, stealing seats by each other at the eighth year table, continuing their midnight flying - and Draco flushes heatedly, taking a small step away from Harry and flushing even darker when Harry follows him forward. "What does it matter if I was staying? You hate me."

"I don't," says Harry immediately, and Draco sees it in his eyes - he _doesn't _hate Draco. Maybe he hasn't hated Draco since he first handed him back his wand. Maybe he hasn't hated Draco for even longer than that. Maybe he has never hated Draco. "I just -"

"I'm a fucking mess, Potter," says Draco, and he backs away again and Harry follows.

"Harry."

"What?"

"Call me Harry," says Harry quietly.

Draco's eyes flash and he feels his will crumbling and he feels his walls falling and how has this happened without him noticing it? "Harry," he whispers.

The Gryffindor smiles, senses submission, steps closer. "And I don't care if you're a mess. I'm a mess too. We're all fucking messes."

"No - you're not," protests Draco, shaking his head; he can't think of anyone _less _of a mess than Harry bloody Potter and -

And Harry steps forward and he brings a hand up to catch Draco's cheek and hold him still and he leans in, slowly, cautiously, sucking in a quiet breath before his lips touch Draco's and then they're kissing. Kissing warm and soft - before Harry grows confident and the kiss grows urgent, urgently hard and urgently fast, both of them melting into each other.

Harry pulls away again, green eyes fluttering open and watching Draco shyly.

"Thank you." The words are out before Draco can even properly catch his breath.

Harry cocks his head. "Thank you?" And he can't seem to understand what it's for this time, why he's being thanked - and Draco smiles.

"Just say you're welcome and fucking kiss me again, you prat."

* * *

__**a/n:** good grief, this is a long oneshot. I'm honestly not even sure what happened, this is supposed to be a DRABBLE, ugh. whatever. I can't believe I'm actually updating a day later. Let's see how long I can keep this going, yeah? This one is for Jayme for listening to me spiel off what the word count was every five minutes or so.

cheers xx


	3. Order

**Order**

"It's so…"

"Homey?" supplied Harry hopefully.

"Messy."

"Mmm, same thing," said Harry, coming up behind Draco and sliding his arms around the blond man's waist. He didn't see the distasteful expression etched on Draco's face - and so he missed when it flickered away as Harry pressed a warm kiss into Draco's neck. "You don't _have_ to move in, you know."

"Ugh, stop being such a fucking Gryffindor," huffed Draco, though he arched his neck, angling for more room so that Harry could continue his ministrations there.

Harry grinned, not fooled by Draco's harsh words in the slightest. It was, as Draco liked to often claim, part of his charm. "Or we could move into your place."

"Potter, do you really want to move into the Manor with my _parents_?"

"Mmm, good point, then we can't do this…"

The next few moments produced occupied silence as Harry slid his hands underneath Draco's shirt, exploring the warm skin underneath as he continued to suck gently at Draco's pulse - and Draco leaned into him during it all, his breathing growing more and more heavy as Harry's hands crept closer and closer to his trousers….

"Yes, but - but you know, I wouldn't say no to a few of my parent's house elves living here as well," hinted Draco as subtly as he could while still trying not to moan. "Your cooking is shit, you know."

"You frequently alert me of that, yes," said Harry dryly, and then he was pulling away from Draco (and beaming at Draco's helpless whimper) and then turning Draco around and pushing him into the closed door. "But you know how Hermione is about house elves, and do you really want to hear her give us both a stern lecture each time she comes over?"

"Point," allowed Draco and then they were both silent as Harry kissed him warmly, his tongue sliding into Draco's mouth in a familiar movement. Draco groaned into Harry's lips, sending a pleasant vibration down Harry's tongue - and then he was pulling away and glancing behind Harry, eyes slightly frantic. "Let me just - okay, before we do this, can I just clean up a little bit?"

"What - I - are you serious?" asked Harry with mixed emotions of disbelief and amusement as Draco pulled away from Harry, looking incredibly flustered and uneasy. "You've been to my flat before, Draco," he pointed out, laughing now as Draco started picking things off the floor - and enjoying the view that provided him with. "You knew it was this messy when you agreed to move in."

"I forgot!" wailed Draco, crawling on his hands and knees now as he grabbed for the dusty old Quidditch magazines under the table that had been left there since forever. "I forgot how utterly atrocious this carpet is and how adverse you are to fucking _order _and -" Here he stood up, looking desperate and upset and pitiful with a dirty sock in his hair (how the hell did that get there?), clutching magazines to his chest and wearing a dust bunny on his shoulder (which Harry was pretty sure if he knew about, he would die).

"Really, Draco," said Harry, smiling warmly and feeling his heart swell with emotion for this wonderful, orderly, bossy, beautiful man. "You don't have to move in."

And Draco stared at him and his lower lip quivered just a bit and then he threw down all the magazines and stomped over to Harry and kissed him as hard as he could. "I fucking love you," he said when he pulled away, gray eyes a storm cloud. "Even though you _are _a slob."

"You have a sock on your head," said Harry as gently as he could. "And I love you too, you orderly freak. Now how about that blow job?"

* * *

**a/n:** day three! this was short and fluffy; hope you guys liked it. if you did, please make sure to leave a review - even if it's just "adlkjakljf"! reviews mean the world to writers and let them know that what they're spitting out there is good.

thanks for reading xx


	4. Look

**Look**

"Is he looking?" A hissed whisper, slicing through the stale air, whistling past dust motes and the smell of ink on parchment.

"No. Fuck off."

"You didn't even look!" Offended now, self-righteous.

"Look yourself, Potter, since you're so goddamn obsessed."

Moody silence, contemplative cutting of the eyes and then - "He's not looking."

Theodore Nott lifted his head from where he was reading and looked over at the Saviour of the Wizarding World, the Boy Who Lived Twice, the Gayest Fucker Who Ever Fucked (that last one was a Nott specialty). "Come on, Potter, admit it to yourself. You've got it bad."

"I don't have it bad," muttered Harry, sulking now as he slid down low in his chair. "I just - you know - well -"

"Right," snorted Theo. "Smooth. It's a wonder he hasn't attacked you already with that incredible eloquence you've got going on. Have you tried spouting sonnets?"

"I hate you."

"And yet here you sit, still talking to me," sighed Theo with a tragic expression. "Can you try hating me a little more? If you want me to dredge up one of those 'Potter Stinks' buttons from fourth year, I will, but only as a last resort."

"Is he looking now?"

There was thunk as Theo dropped his head (rather painfully) down onto the table, the wooden surface muffling his groan as he tried to remember the exact time and space in which he and Harry Potter became mates - so that when he finally laid hands on a time-turner, he could go back to himself and punch himself in the face. And then Harry wouldn't be able to constantly ask Theo questions about Draco Malfoy, and he wouldn't be able to constantly come up with plans to woo Draco Malfoy _and then never follow through with them _and then maybe -

There was a scuffle next to him and Theo pried his head off the table to peer at Harry, who was now flushed and pointedly staring at the middle of a Potions book.

"Potter," said Theo.

No response.

"Potter, you don't read Potions books. You've never read Potions books. That's why I'm here, to give you answers because your former study-buddy is now fucking her boyfriend on a daily basis and has left you in the dust. Literally. In the actual dust, with me, in the library."

No response. Merlin's balls, what was _wrong_ with him? Usually comments about Granger and Weasley were enough to - and then Theo twisted just barely to look at Draco and caught the other Slytherin with a dark red flush creeping up his neck and _his_ nose buried in a Potions book.

Oh.

Theo watched with hooded, amused eyes as Draco glanced up quickly, just for one fleeting moment, his eyes searching out Harry - and then they landed on Theo and he turned, if possible, even more red. "Lo, Draco!" called Theo, lifting a hand and waving cheerily at him. "Nice day, isn't it?"

There's a dark grumbling from Draco's corner of the library and Theo pretended surprise, placing an exaggerated hand around his ear and leaning in Draco's direction. "Pardon? Didn't catch that last part - repeat it a bit louder?"

"I said fuck you!" snarled Draco and there was a loud bang as the Slytherin slammed his book shut, shoved all his things in his bag and left the library with a huff.

"Bit touchy, isn't he?"

"Wow - thanks, Nott," said Harry in a mournful tone, halfway getting up out of his chair as he watched Draco leave - his eyes trained, as Theo noted, on one particular body part. "You fucker. He's _gone_."

"He's gone because he's _embarrassed_, you dolt," laughed Theo, reclining back in his chair and feeling rather proud of himself despite his vow never to get involved in this relationship.

"Yeah, thanks to you, and now he's disappeared!" said Harry, and there was a definite sulk to him now that Draco had seemingly up and left. He was hunched over the table in contrast to Theo's relaxed sprawl and now he picked up a quill and sullenly started shredding it, making a loud sound of protestation as Theo accio'd it out his hands.

"Relax, you're going to want that later - and besides, you have nothing to pout about; come on, Potter, think about it - when have you ever seen a Malfoy get embarrassed?" Theo arched an eyebrow, pointedly waiting for it to click in Harry's measly Gryffindor brain.

"Umm…"

Oh, Merlin, this was going to take all afternoon if Theo didn't step in. God bless. "_Never_. That's the point. Malfoys don't _get _embarrassed - and suddenly he's leaving in a hurry because I caught him staring at you? Honestly, Potter, it's so obvious he fancies you," sighed Theo and then suddenly he winced, blinded by Harry's thousand watt beam.

"You - wait, don't mess around with me, you think he might fancy me?"

"I'm going to regret this - _yes, _I think he fancies you, but if you go around snogging in front of me like Granger and Weasley do, I'm going to - OI! Potter! Where do you think you're going?" demanded Theo, scowling as Harry leapt up from the table and, ignoring all the books scattered everywhere, started dashing between shelves.

"To go talk to him, where do you think?" came the faint but excited reply as Harry ran off.

Theo huffed. Sat there for a long moment. Scowled and started cleaning up their things. "Yep, definitely need to get that time-turner and _soon."_

* * *

__**a/n:** YAY, I made it to the fifth day - and I have two more written as well! pretty impressed with myself, ngl. Reviews are the reason I wake up before twelve o'clock in the middle of summer (literally).

cheers! xx


	5. Summer

**Summer**

or

_The Many Tastes of Harry Potter_

When Draco kisses him for the first time, he decides that Harry James Potter tastes of summer.

Warm, happy, a bit like melting ice cream. That last one is odd - that last one confuses Draco, and he pulls away, reaching up to touch his lips and flicking his tongue out afterward to swipe up the last of Harry's taste. They are standing at the edge of the Black Lake and it's the middle of winter and Harry has been shooting him those _looks_ for the past few weeks - before Draco couldn't take it any more and here they stand.

"That was - wow," says Harry a little breathlessly, eyes shining.

"Did you eat ice cream just now?" frowns Draco, his eyebrows furrowing together in confusion as he licks his lips again. He wants to lick _Harry's_ lips but first he wants his answer.

"Uhhh, no, not that I can remember…" says Harry, looking just as bewildered as Draco feels. "Did you want some or…"

"No," says Draco, and he pulls Harry back in again, kissing him just as deeply as he had the first time.

Except - there it is. Warmth, happiness, melting ice cream. _Vanilla_ ice cream. And Draco is about to pull away and question Harry about it further but then Harry does a little thing with his tongue and oh God, the idea of pulling away at a time like this is bloody torture.

And anyway, maybe Harry had ice cream earlier and just forgot about it.

* * *

The fourth time they snog, Harry tastes of sand and ocean water and suntan lotion. Perhaps the most confusing thing about it all is that none of this taste particularly _bad_ - which is surprising because Draco has had suntan lotion dribble into his mouth on one hot, memorable summer day last year and it is _not_ a good flavour - no, it doesn't taste bad, just… distinct. Distinctly summer.

Harry flops onto his back, panting from the lack of air their snogging allows, and grins up at the sky, looking giddy; they're both lying in the middle of the Quidditch pitch and it's the middle of the night. The stars are sparkling in the pitch-black blanket and Harry's hair looks almost blue. "When are you going to let me start telling people?"

"Potter, people are still talking about how you're not with the girl Weasley - and that break-up happened _months_ ago," points out Draco, sighing slightly as he rests in his own patch of grass. He's once again licking his lips, his expression contemplative. What a curious, curious taste. How the hell does Harry manage it? Sand…. How could his mouth taste of sand? How does one acquire such a taste in the middle of winter at a magical school in the middle of _nowhere_? It's baffling.

"Is it because you're ashamed of me?" comes the quiet question, spoken in a small voice.

Draco immediately rolls onto his side, looking down into Harry's abashed face with a fierceness that surprises even the Slytherin himself. "No. No - I'm not ashamed. Don't think that, promise me you won't think that."

Perhaps it's because of Draco's harsh tone, perhaps it's because of the burning light in his eyes; either way, after a moment, Harry agrees.

Rolling back onto his back, Draco is quiet for a moment before saying, "Besides, it's you that should be ashamed of _me_. I'm the… the ex-Death Eater, the failure -" He abruptly falls silent as warm, slender fingers intertwine with his. It is the first time Harry's held his hand, and Draco cannot help noticing that their fingers fit together perfectly.

They stay like that, laying on the grass in the middle of the pitch, silently holding hands for a long time, and Draco forgets all about the questioning taste of his almost-not-really-sort-of-secret-boyfriend. Besides, the next time they kiss, it's gone anyway.

* * *

It is three weeks after they've become a _thing_ and they're sneaking back into the common room after a late night rendezvous - when, just outside of the portrait designed to guard the eighth years' common room, Harry jerks Draco into him and kisses him hard - and this time, with his eyes closed and his hands sliding around Harry's neck, Draco tastes mowing the grass and flying a nearly-broken kite and baking in the heat of the sun.

And he thinks to himself, _shit._

_I've broken Harry Potter somehow._

Because how can it be possible for someone to taste like an action? Like flying a fucking _kite_? But as Harry gently nudges Draco's mouth open with his lips, as Harry darts his tongue into Draco's mouth, as their breath mingles together in a hot cloud - that is _exactly _what it tastes like. Like running on a flat field and throwing the kite into the air and holding your breath as you wait for it to maybe please hopefully catch a breath of wind. Like laying on a blanket for hours on end with a good book and feeling the heat sink into your skin, warming you from the inside out. Like feeling blades of grass hit your ankles and watching as the tangled area soon becomes neat and tidy.

"Potter," gasps Draco as he breaks away just barely, steadying himself on Harry's shoulders and feeling his knees weaken. "We're going to get caught -"

"I don't care," murmurs Harry, and he kisses Draco again, and this time it's sunshine and a hot wind -

"_I_ care," manages Draco, breaking away again. "Your friends hate me, Harry."

The Gryffindor stares at him with heady, pupil-blown eyes - but it's not all lust that Draco sees there, no, it' something more, and that scares him, that scares the hell out of him. "They don't," he whispers, his hands tightening on Draco's hips. "You need to give them a chance. You need to let them give _you_ a chance. Sit with us at the eighth year table tomorrow - come to one of the study sessions Hermione forces us to hold."

And Draco's about to say no, about to protest again, when Harry kisses him once more and he tastes like the lemonade Draco's mother always makes for him when he's hot and thirsty and how can he say no to that?

* * *

"Ugh, I'm going to take back my blessing," grumbles Ron as he stares balefully across the table to where Draco and Harry sit, holding hands.

"Shut it, you," says Hermione, beaming at the couple and Draco isn't sure which he finds more annoying: Ron's pointed comments or Hermione's constant smiling at them. And why is she so _happy_ about this anyway? "They don't need your blessing to be together, isn't that right, Harry?"

"I still can't believe it took you two so long to tell us," mutters Ginny and she looks just as unhappy as her brother but for a completely different reason. She - wait, what she is she doing sitting at the eighth year table anyway? Aren't there any _rules_ in this place? "Merlin, I _knew_ it was happening! Didn't I know, Neville?"

Neville looks uncomfortable. "You did mention it, once or twice…"

"Or a thousand times," cuts in Seamus. "You owe me six galleons, by the way, Ron."

Draco looks affronted. "There were _bets_?" He whirls on Harry, who has been serenely eating mashed potatoes throughout this entire ordeal. "Did you know they were _betting_ on us?"

"Of course not," says Harry in a soothing voice. A pause and then, "Well, I might have put in a knut or two…"

"Ugh," says Draco, and he tries to pull his hand away from Harry but the stupid Gryffindor is holding on too tightly and maybe Draco likes the feel of that rough, callused palm against his too much to let go anyway. Whatever. "You don't deserve me."

"Too right," grins Harry and he leans in and kisses Draco heatedly, their lips melding together and its their first kiss since they brought their relationship to the public and how is it that Harry was just eating mashed potatoes but he tastes of laziness and sleeping in late and eating messy BBQ?

Draco doesn't even _like_ BBQ.

* * *

"It's small," says Draco, wrinkling his nose and surveying the living room. His arms are akimbo and he makes the picture of mild disapproval as he slowly revolves in the middle of the room and then looks over at Harry - who is standing anxiously at the doorway and watching Draco. A reluctant smile flickers across Draco's face. "But it'll do."

"Prick," laughs Harry, crossing the distance between them and sliding his arms around Draco's waist. He stares at him for a moment and then he leans in, not to kiss him but merely just to hug him, resting his chin on Draco's shoulder and holding him tight. And it's simple and it's warm and Draco loves him for it, for being Gryffindor enough to hug him during their first moment inside their new flat together.

And suddenly the feeling is welling up inside of him and it's too much to control and, "I love you," he says, and blinks, startled by his own admission.

Harry tenses for a moment and then pulls away just enough to look Draco in the eyes - his own wide and surprised and affectionate. They stare at each other for a moment, long enough that Draco starts to flush, and then Harry murmurs, "I love you too."

And this time when Harry kisses him, it tastes like being sunburned, it tastes like being on fire, it tastes like the hottest day of summer, the longest day when everything is perfect and you go to bed exhausted but with a smile on your face. He tastes like summer and he tastes like love as well, like a love that lasts a million years and makes every day feel like the middle of summer.

* * *

Finally, he dredges up enough courage to ask, weeks and weeks after they've moved in together.

They're in bed, with Harry's arm thrown snugly around Draco's waist and his head tucked into the curve between Draco's shoulder and neck - and he can tell that Harry is almost asleep, just in that state between coherence and dreamland, and he swallows tightly, half-hoping that maybe Harry already _is_ asleep and his question will go unheard -

"Whassamatter," mumbles Harry, brushing his cold nose against Draco's throat and making the blonde shiver. "Tense. Stop. _Sleep_."

"Harry…" says Draco and he frowns, wondering if he's mad, wondering if he's been mad this entire time - and that would make sense, really, because in what world would he and Harry _really _end up together? "When we kiss…"

"Mm, good," yawns Harry, his breath tickling Draco.

"I'm being serious. When we kiss - why do you - you taste like summer," sputters out Draco and he feels Harry shift just enough to blink up at him sleepily.

"Really?"

Draco stares at him. "You believe me?"

"Well… yeah," smiles Harry, and he's just awake now to lift his lips up to Draco and kiss him (if a little bit sloppily) and this time it's a day at the park and feeding the birds and fixing a picnic basket - and then Harry is dropping back down to Draco's chest and sighing a little content smile. "Love you."

"Love you too," says Draco, turning to nuzzle the ink black hair hitting his face.

A pause. He can feel Harry relaxing back into him. "But why would you accept something like that so quickly?"

"Easy," mumbles Harry, already drifting again.

"Easy?"

"Yeah… I can accept that I taste like summer because - well…" yawn, "because you taste like winter."

* * *

**a/n:** thank you SO much to those who have reviewed so far! it seriously makes my day ten times brighter just for one word of encouragement. anyway, this one here was a personal favourite of mine, so lemme know how you liked it, especially that ending! _  
_

hope your friday is wonderful xx


	6. Mad

**Mad**

"Giiiiiiiiiiinny," whined Harry as he dropped down into the seat next to the redhead, looking pitiful and dashing all at once in his formal Gala robes. She was sitting with her feet up on the chair, heedless of the rich purple robes that probably cost more than she would ever admit to her mother. And - closer inspection proved she was rubbing said feet, though now she stopped to look up at Harry expectantly.

Then her expression shuttered close. "Oh - no. _No. _Don't think you can do this to me, Harry Potter."

The raven-haired man paused in his mournful expression just enough to look shocked as he asked, "What are you talking about? Do what?"

"This," she said, glowering at him now. "You have that tone you get when Draco does something to you - or, oh no, is he mad at you again? Fuck, Harry, you r_eally_ need to stop pissing that man off, it takes him _light years _to get over it."

"I know," moaned Harry and he let his head drop down to the fancy tablecloth, not caring that others at the charity ball were probably staring at the Boy Wonder and wondering what the hell he was doing. He was having a _crisis_, for Merlin's sake, and why did he have to have such shitty friends? "I tried to talk to Ron - he invoked the 'I Accepted You Married Malfoy But Don't Come to Me with Marriage Problems' thing he always brings up."

Ginny snorted. "That sounds about like Ron."

"Then I went to Hermione - except she was busy talking to old whatshisface, the Head of the Department on Experimental Magic and they looked so damn enthusiastic that I -"

"Got scared and came to me instead?" asked Ginny dryly.

Harry tilted his head just a bit so that his cheek was pressed into the table and he could squint guiltily up at Ginny. "Well… not exactly. Then I went to Blaise because he's always had a bit of a fine eye for when it comes to making Draco un-mad at me… Except when he heard what it was for, he shook his head and told me to 'fuck off'."

"And _then_ you came to me?"

"Uh - well… Then I went searching for Luna because she usually has good advice on things… in general, except -"

"Except she's not even here," sighed Ginny, shaking her head. "How long did it take you to figure that one out?"

"Long enough for me to run into Neville," said Harry, and he had shifted positions again, growing comfortable with his tale enough to rest his cheek on his hand and stare thoughtfully into the dancing crowd. "I don't see nearly enough of Neville like I should, you know? He's quite the nice bloke… rubbish at advice though. As soon as he found out it was about Draco, he refused to speak."

A peek at Ginny revealed a grin. "Bet I know why."

"Why?"

Now she huffed, grin gone. "Like I should tell you, you prick! I was the - _sixth_ person you came to! Sixth! I have been supportive of your relationship from the beginning and who was the one to help you decide how to ask him to marry you? Me. Ginny Weasley. But do I get any credit for any of that? No, apparently not - _sixth_," she muttered darkly, sliding down in her chair slightly and glaring out over the crowd.

"Ginny," said Harry, frowning helplessly.

She ignored him. Except - there. There it was again. That flash of silver blonde hair in the very back of the room, standing by himself and brooding.

God damn, she was a sucker for mysteries.

"All right, fine," she said in a sulk, glaring at Harry. "Tell me what he's mad about."

He brightened. "So you'll help?"

"_If _I can," she said and then she paused and added with a bit of a conceited expression: "Though I'm usually pretty good at these things. Remember how Ron fucked up that one time in Germany and I smoothed it over with Hermione -"

"Ginny. Focus."

"Right. Go on."

"So… he's…" Harry took a deep breath, sounding rather unlike himself, and Ginny peered at him closer, her curiosity growing in leaps and bounds. "We - that is, I wanted -"

"Spit it out, Potter!"

"I want to start a family," said Harry in a rush and then blinked as if he was unused to saying it out loud.

Ginny froze, eyes widening as she clutched at the table before her and unconsciously leaned towards Harry. "A - family? But - Harry, that's _wonderful_!" And then she was bouncing up and down on her chair, nearly vibrating with excitement. "I call godmother, I call godmother! Merlin, Godmother Ginny just sounds _so good _and - oh," she said, abruptly stopping as she caught sight of Harry's glum expression. "He's mad about this? He… doesn't want one?"

Harry shrugged morosely, digging a fingernail into the tablecloth and avoiding her gaze. "I don't know. I - I might have brought it up… as soon as we got here," he said, blushing slightly.

"Classy, Harry, real nice," said Ginny, rolling her eyes. "In the middle of a Ministry Gala?"

"It slipped out!" protested Harry. "We'd just greeted Hermione and Ron and I asked Hermione how Rose was doing - you know, sleeping through the night yet… and then we moved away from them and we were dancing and I just sort of said that I wanted my own family."

She winced. "No wonder he's mad."

"So… what do I do?"

"Ummm…" she began, wrinkling her nose slightly as she thought - and then suddenly there was a shadow on the table and both former Gryffindors looked up to see the man they were discussing standing right there at the edge of the table, looking highly uncomfortable and rather anxious.

"Hello," said Draco.

Ginny and Harry shared a look and then Ginny stood up, smiling sweetly and slipping her heels back on as she wobbled over to Draco. "You're looking very nice tonight," she smiled and leaned in, kissing him on the cheek and then glancing back at Harry. "Try not to forget that you're not as young as you used to be," she warned and then she was off, wobbling away to go find someone else to talk to.

Draco stared at Harry for a long moment as Harry pointedly stared at the table.

"Um," Harry finally said. "I-"

"Shut up," said Draco, and Harry looked up quickly, hope flashing on his face - because, after all, Draco only ever told Harry to shut up when he was about to say something nice. "I suppose you just went and told every Gryffindor in sight what happened?"

"Tried to," said Harry shamelessly, pushing away from the table and shyly approaching the other man. "Most wouldn't listen."

"Ah, well, at least there's the little things in life left to enjoy."

"Draco…" said Harry uneasily, pausing an arm's length away. "What I said earlier -"

"What if I'm a shit father?" interrupted Draco and for the first time Harry saw true fear shining in his husband's eyes, fear that shot straight down Harry's spine and made him regret ever opening his mouth tonight. He took a step closer but Draco wasn't done - "What if I raise them the wrong way like my father did? What if I can't hold a baby or comfort them when they cry - and Harry, what if they grow up to hate me like - like how I hated mine?"

"Draco," said Harry and that one word held more affection in it than a whole paragraph could have. He stepped forward, wrapping his arms around Draco and pulling him close so that they stood nose-to-nose. "You're going to be an amazing father."

"But what if -"

"And I'm going to be _right there_," Harry went on loudly, ignoring Draco's small noise of protest. "This isn't just you doing this, Draco - it's not going to be you by yourself. I'm going to be there with you, every step of the way…" He reached up, pushing a lock of Draco's fine blonde hair out of his face, a small smile crossing his face. "To raise our child."

"Our child, eh?" whispered Draco. "That has a nice ring to it."

"Hmmm," said Harry, leaning in to press a series of feather-light kisses along Draco's jaw line. "You'll be amazing. Parents. Can you imagine?"

"What if I screw it all up?"

"Then you get to pay for therapy sessions when it grows up."

"Not funny."

"Sorry."

"No you're not," said Draco and he leaned in and kissed Harry, gripping the other man's robes and opening his mouth as the kiss deepened. Then he pulled away and smirked. "Okay, but I call being the nice dad that spoils them rotten. Have fun disciplining four completely insane kids for the rest of your life."

"Well, fuck," muttered Harry and then Draco was kissing him again and - Harry broke away, a glitter in his eyes. "Did you say _four?"_

* * *

**a/n:** gah,guess how much I love Harry and Ginny's friendship? (if you guessed not quite as much as I love Harry-Theo's friendship, you are correct) but no, really, I hate Weasley-bashing and I _hate_ the idea of Ginny as a jealous, posessive ex-girlfriend. she loved him before they got together and she'll love them when they're not together, dang it! thank you a million to everyone's who reviewed, and a Jealous-Posessive!Draco who clings to his Harry for everyone who reviews this chapter!


	7. Denial

**Denial**

The Great Hall had seen many things in its day.

It had seen students being Sorted into life-changing houses. It had seen students dancing happily during a chaotic ball (or two). It had been the home to thousands of meals, hundred of arguments, far too many tears. It had sat Slytherins, Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, Hufflepuffs. It had listened to professors, Headmasters (and Headmistresses), ghosts of all kinds, and the occasional special Minister guest.

Currently though, it was rather unusually empty - although, of course, this might have something to do with the fact that it was five forty-seven in the morning. On a Sunday.

"Why, Draco," said Theodore Nott, dragging himself slowly behind the blonde man leading the way. "It's fucking _Sunday_. Sundays are meant for sleeping in. Not… this."

"Yes, you've made that perfectly clear in the ten minute walk it took us to get down here," said Draco, a flash of irritation crossing his face. "And have I mentioned how much I hate living in the eighth year common room? Everything is so _far away_."

"More of a reason to sleep in," muttered Theo.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Your incoherence is grating, Nott. Since when are you not a morning person? You've always been a morning person."

"My morning usually constitutes eight or nine o'clock," said the other boy with a dark look. "Not - _this_."

They had reached their destination - the eighth year circular table at the back of the room - and now Draco huffed and pointedly walked around the table until he was facing the entrance of the Great Hall, pausing only a moment before he dropped into one of the seats. There was a pause as he stared at the plates and then said, "What's happening?"

"What do you mean?" asked Theo, who had been fallen a couple steps behind and was just now reaching the table at a slow stroll. He trailed over to Draco's side of the table and then stared down at the sparkling clean plates for long moment before looking around at the rest of the empty Great Hall. "Draco," he said slowly. "Where is the food?"

"Hmm," muttered Draco, pulling out his wand and poking one of the plates. "Odd… Must not serve this early in the morning."

"For fuck's sake," cried out Theo, and he threw his hands up to the barely-gray sky, dramatically throwing his head back. "WHY AM I FRIENDS WITH A FUCKING _LOON_ -"

"Shut _up_," said Draco crossly, glaring at the other boy's dramatics. "Someone'll hear you." ("_Who_?" demanded Theo, glowering. "All the invisible people that are _so_ interested in knowing your sanity level?" He was conveniently ignored.) "Besides, it'll probably all appear at six so we just have to wait -" Draco checked his watch, "Another ten minutes. Approximately."

"When are you just going to admit it, Malfoy?" said Theo in a testy voice as he dropped down next to Draco. "Everyone else knows already, there's nothing to be ashamed of -"

"I have nothing to admit," hissed Draco and they glared at each other for a long moment before Theo crossed his arms and Draco checked his watch again. "Eight minutes," he grumbled.

Theo gave a loud, pointed sigh. "I just don't understand why _I_ have to be here - or, hell, why you need to eat breakfast at all. Just skip it if you're so damn chicken -"

"Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, Nott," said Draco in what Theo had termed his _'My Shit Tastes Better Than Yours' _voice.

"Right," said Theo dryly and there was a pause and then his eyes flashed amusement and he felt a broad smirk appear on his face. "Say - you wouldn't want to get up and eat breakfast at such a ridiculously early time because of _that_, would you?"

He heard Draco's breath catch beside him and knew that they were both watching the same thing - a dark-haired figure wearing jogging shorts and absolutely no shirt go jogging past the open doors, completely intent on his run. The sound of footsteps hitting the stone echoed back to them and then when they finally trailed off, Theo turned to Draco with an expectant look.

The other boy was flushed pink and pressing his lips together in a determined fashion.

"Well?" prompted Theo when Draco refused to speak or, in fact, move at all.

"Well what?"

"Still going to deny it?"

"Deny _what?"_

"Deny that you fucking love Harry Potter," said Theo with a smug voice and then he made a delighted noise as food abruptly appeared in front of them. "Oh - look, kippers - and bacon, mmm, maybe this wasn't such a bad idea after all."

"I don't love Harry Potter," protested Draco, but it was a moment too late for anyone, particularly Theo, to take into account. "I just - that was - a coincidence! I'm hungry, that's all. And I didn't want to eat with a crowd."

"There's never a crowd on Sundays," pointed out Theo. "Everyone likes to sleep in. Except, apparently, one bloke you like to call Scarhead… and his madly obsessed lover and his madly nice mate who gets dragged along for everything."

Draco sputtered. "That proves nothing! Coincidence! I'm not insane!"

"Whatever," said Theo, still wearing that ridiculously smug smirk. "You might as well eat something, now that we're up. Unless…" He glanced at Draco slyly.

"What?" asked Draco suspiciously, eyes narrowed. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Unless you want to wait for Potter to get back so that you can lick him clean -"

"That's it, I'm leaving," said the blond in a furious voice, standing up and not hesitating a moment as he stalked away.

"Wait! Maple syrup!" called Theo, lifting up a jug of said condiment and waving it in Draco's direction. "We can drizzle on his naked chest!"

"Fuck you!" came the distant, angry reply as Draco reached the Great Hall doors.

"But don't you want to wait for when he comes back?" called Theo desperately - desperately trying not to laugh, that is. This was just too easy sometimes.

Silence.

Laughing to himself, he started eating his large portion of bacon and happily scooped a spoonful of eggs onto his plate as well. "This isn't half-bad," he said aloud to himself, grinning happily. "Breakfast by myself, Draco finally admitting he somewhat likes Potter - and now I can finally tell something to Potter to get him off my back about this every day. Not bad."

Not bad at all.

* * *

**a/n:** we have reached day seven! And this one goes to ultimaterockgoddess, whose review inspired me to write another one shot with Theo in it. Ah, gotta love Theo - and Draco staring after a shirtless Harry Potter.

review if you want Theo Nott drizzling maple syrup on you and licking it off!


	8. Thousand

**Thousand**

Or

_Seamus Finnigan Admits He Has a Gambling Problem_

The Eighth Year common room was quiet, for once, as the last day of October quietly slipped away into November, and the mixed students sprawled about the room barely noticed as time ticked endlessly forward. It was Halloween - and yet there was no excitement in the air, there were no parties or drinking or even bloody _eating_, for Merlin's sake.

And Seamus Finnigan was bored of it.

"I'm bored," he announced to the room as a whole, and Dean - who was on the floor attempting to play Ron in chess - was the only one to even glance at him, much less react the way Seamus wanted. "Can we go back to when a war was going on? At least then there were things to do then…. Evil wizards to defeat… Small children to rescue…"

"I _like_ the quiet," protested Neville from his corner where he was, once again, playing with a plant. Him and those fucking plants. Hermione, at a table near him, made a small noise of agreement.

Bloody hell.

"Ugh, just kill me," Seamus groaned to Dean, his only sympathizer, and he slipped lower on his couch until he was draped across its entirety with his arm thrown up over his face. He laid like that for a moment, wondering what he could possibly do that wasn't also used as a torture device in the deepest pits of hell -

- when suddenly there a commotion at the portrait door, a loud squawk and then, "I _said_ the password," fumed Ginny Weasley, stepping inside and shooting the portrait a dark look. Seamus, along with everyone else, sat up to look at her. "You can't deny me entrance if I know the damn _password_."

"Oi!" called Ron, looking up from his chess game. "Who told you how to get in here?"

"Your girlfriend, you idiot," said the redhead, rolling her eyes, and Ron shot Hermione a slightly accusatory, mostly baffled look.

"She asked," shrugged Hermione. "I didn't see the harm so -" Quickly, she returned to her reading.

"Well what is it you want then?" asked Ron and Seamus returned back to silently bemoaning the lack of excitement. Nothing was exciting about a conversation between the Weasleys, no matter how much Seamus liked them both - he wanted _adventure_, passion, he wanted -

"I'm looking for Harry, has anyone seen him?"

"Actually… no," frowned Ron, glancing around. "I haven't. Not since dinner. Oi, Neville, you seen -"

"Nope," said Neville, a curious little frown on his mouth. "Can't say I have."

"Draco's gone too," said Nott lazily from where he sat with Blaise Zabini, both of them looking not the least bit concerned by their fellow Slytherin's absence.

"Hmm," muttered Ginny. She paused and then moved, throwing herself at the end of Seamus' couch and missing his feet by inches - but he was too intrigued by it all to really care about potentially squashed appendages.

"So, your boyfriend's gone missing, eh?" asked Seamus in a low voice - not that it really mattered; everyone has already turned back to their respective activities and he had sat up, sidling as close to the girl as he dared. "That must be upsetting."

She scowled sideways at him, looking suspicious. "He's not my boyfriend. You _know_ he's not my boyfriend. Merlin, Finnigan, we haven't been dating since the war ended and that was months ago - and anyway, everyone knows he's -" Suddenly she stopped. Flushed a hot red.

"Everyone knows he's what, Weasley?" asked Seamus, grinning wickedly at her slip. "What was that you were about to say? C'mon, everyone knows you can trust an Irishman…."

"Everyone knows you _can't_ trust an Irishman," said Ginny, glowering. "Now go away, I'm done gossiping about my _friend_."

"Pah, I was here first," said Seamus, lazily yawning and spreading his arms out along the couch. He paused and then felt a slow grin cross his face as an idea occurred to him. A brilliant idea. A wonderful idea. Okay - not that wonderful, but at least it was an _idea_. "Say - Weasley, how do you feel about… a little betting?"

She looked at him distrustfully. Shifted, lips pursed contemplatively. "I only do it to win."

"Bet you could use a bit of pocket money," he said slowly, drawing the bait out temptingly. "Saw you looking at those new shoes in that Hogsmeade store last weekend."

"Stalker," said Ginny without any real venom in her voice. Instead, there was a spark of interest in her eyes, as if she was just as eager for a bit of excitement as he was. "What kind of bet are we talking about here anyway?"

"Oh, you know…" He leaned in, lowering his voice further still. "Bet you six sickles Harry and Malfoy are off somewhere dueling it out."

Her eyes widened and then she smirked, holding her hand out to him. "Done."

He grinned back.

Easiest six sickles ever made.

"Say, uh… Harry," said Seamus the next morning over breakfast, shooting a pointed look in Ginny's direction who was - once again - sneaking in on the eighth years' territory. "Where were you last night? Everyone was wondering."

"They were?" asked Harry, looking startled. "I didn't know everyone cared about my evening activities so much…"

"Ah, you know us," shrugged Seamus carelessly. "Everyone's gotten so much closer since our year shrunk down so much. 'Sides, it was Halloween. Didn't find some alcohol did you? Should've let everyone else joined in!"

"Alcohol?" Now he smiled, seemingly amused by the thought. "No… no alcohol. Nah, me and Malfoy were just flying down at the Quidditch pitch. Seeker's match, you know."

Seamus felt his expression go crestfallen and he quickly recovered. "Oh? Who won?"

"Malfoy," shrugged Harry, reaching forward to pick up a slice of bacon and chewing on the end of it thoughtfully.

Seamus latched onto the opening. "Bet you were mad, yeah? I would've been. Did any fights break out?"

"What - fights?" asked Harry, even more startled, and then he laughed. "No, it wasn't like that; not really that competitive. He deserved the win," and then he glanced up, spotting the very person they were taking about entering the Great Hall - and he smiled again, looking distracted. "No fights."

"Damn," muttered Seamus to himself and Harry looked at him again.

"Sorry?"

"Oh - no, I said… could you pass… the jam?"

"Oh - sure, mate," and then Seamus was left with nothing but a sulk and a half-empty jar of strawberry jam and a very gleeful-looking Ginny bouncing up next to him with her hand stuck out.

_Damn._

"New bet!" declared Seamus, flopping down next to Ginny and slamming a notebook down onto the table.

She shot him a dark look, reaching up to push messy red hair behind her ear. "We're in the _library_, Seamus, you can't go betting people in the _library_ -"

"Hasn't stopped me before," interrupted Seamus, grinning cheekily.

"That's because you're a prick."

"Yeah, well - we gonna do this or not?"

Ginny hesitated. Frowned. Twirled her quill for a moment. Sighed. "Fine. But if Harry ever finds out I did this, he's going to kill me and then I'm going to come back as a ghost and haunt you for life, okay? Worse than Myrtle, you got it?"

"Yeah, yeah," he brushed it off. "Ready to hear it?"

"Lay it on me."

"Kay, so, I heard it from Dean who heard it from Kara, that fifth year Hufflepuff, who heard it from Laura - from Ravenclaw, you know the one, who got it from -"

"Seamus, if you don't get on with it, I'm going to hit you over the head with this Potions book. Do you really want your tombstone to read _'Death By Potions Book'_?"

"Right, sorry - so it's a little known rumor that Harry's been looking a lot happier lately and this third year distinctly saw him coming from the back of the library looking well-snogged - yes, that section right over there, the very one - but why don't any of us know about it? So here's the bet: ten sickles that Harry's found himself a Slytherin girlfriend."

Ginny didn't even hesitate for this one, simply flashed a grin and then laughed. "You're on."

This time he had her for sure.

"So, Seamus," said Terry Boot, purposely sitting down in the seat next to Seamus' in DADA. All around them, students were talking and laughing and getting ready for class to begin - and Seamus spared Terry an interested look, knowing that the former Ravenclaw wouldn't approach him without reason. "I hear you're running a bet about Potter and Malfoy."

"Did you?" mused Seamus, his hand automatically going to the little black book he kept in his robes. "Weasley let that one slip, did she?"

He shrugged. "Heard her laughing about it with Lovegood. Anyway - I was wondering, can I get in on it?"

Seamus lifted his eyebrows. "Really? You wanna place in?"

"Sure," grinned Terry, shrugging a shoulder. "What else is going on, yeah?"

"Yeah," said Seamus thoughtfully. "Yeah… Which side are you on? The current one is that Harry's found himself a Slytherin girlfriend, ten sickles -"

"I'm in," said Terry, automatically reaching for his pocket. "Ten sickles? Not bad. Yeah, I'd love it if Harry got himself a Slytherin bird. Be so ironic."

"Wouldn't it though? Glad we could make business, Boot. You and I should talk more."

And they shook hands.

"Ugh, I knew for _sure _I was right," muttered Seamus and his expression was dark as he handed over twenty sickles to Ginny in the common room two nights later.

Terry was at his side, looking sympathetic as he clapped a hand on Seamus' shoulder. "Rough for both of us, mate. Should've known not to bet against Ginny - she knows him too well."

"Don't know what you're talking about," smirked Ginny, looking positively Slytherin as she pocketed the money. "Thanks, boys, but if that's all…"

"Now, wait a second," said Seamus, pointing a finger at her. "I'm going to find a bet that you lose on, Ginny Weasley -"

"Bets?" chimed in Dean as he came down from the boys' dormitory. "We're starting up bets again? I thought you quit that, Seam, after McGonagall caught you that time in sixth year. Merlin, but she was so pissed…" He trailed off at Seamus' dark look and then grinned. "Right, so, I'm in, either way. What is it this time?"

"Who'll win in the next Potter-Malfoy Seeker's match," declared Ginny, eyes alight with amusement. "I have my money on Harry, of course."

"Hmm, I'm going to go with… Malfoy," said Terry, looking thoughtful as he reached into his wallet again. "He's never won in a match against Harry, but he's beaten loads of other people, you know. Maybe it's different one-on-one."

"Malfoy," agreed Seamus, thinking about the last conversation he'd had with Harry about it. "Just five sickles this time?"

"Sure," agreed Ginny, and Dean was watching her when he put his vote in on Harry.

Seamus wrote it all down, thanked them muchly, and then headed off to find out just when Harry planned on hanging out with Malfoy again.

Word started spreading. Suddenly it wasn't just the four of them any more, but five - then it became the six of them, then the seven of them - soon most of the eighth years and a few seventh years were all bidding against Harry Potter this and Draco Malfoy that. Of course, it was all kept tightly under wraps - wouldn't do for either of the subjects to know they were being betted on… and then of course there was the dreadful McGonagall speech which had frightened Seamus into submission once and (he was ashamed to admit) would probably work a second time around.

Maybe it was because everyone in their year was so used to dodging hexes and living in horrendous conditions - or maybe it was because everyone was just as damn bored as Seamus was, but it became… well, to be honest, it became a bit of a fad.

"Okay, everyone," said Seamus as everyone gathered around the table for a faux study session in the library. 'Everyone' consisted of quite a bit Gryffindors, a fair few Hufflepuffs, a couple Ravenclaws and - "Joining in on a first time bet, eh?" he asked, grinning wickedly as he saw Nott and Zabini slink into the back of their corner and stand a bit to the side. And he met their eyes and he realised for the first time that - well, this was the first time he'd really seen the two joining in on any other group activity of their own willingness. They had to share a common room, had to share meals together - but this? Completely voluntary.

And for a moment, Seamus Finnigan allowed himself to feel a wave of pride at accomplishing what multiple professors had tried at and failed at for decades now: House unity.

And then he remembered he was making money by betting on his friend and roommate's personal lives and the pride ebbed.

But still. Unity is unity.

"Right - so, this is our first official meeting, so far it's just been a bunch of scribbled down bets and whatnot… But anyway, I've decided, as our official non-official bookie,"

"What's that?" asked one Hufflepuff and Seamus glared.

"No interruptions. Where was I? Yes - bookie. That's me. Seamus Finnigan for those that didn't know - anyway, I'm limiting the bets to one per week, so that no one gets suspicious, and Ron Weasley - wave your hand there so that everyone knows who you are - is our official uhh… person that tells what the outcome of the bet was. Which means no money for you, Ron," who looked mightily displeased about this little fact. "Anyway, bets once a week, we all enter into a pool, winners of the bet get to split the pool between themselves. Everyone clear? Right, so…"

"How was it possible that I didn't know Harry's boggart?" asked Ginny moodily, watching with a sullen eye as Seamus counted out that weeks winnings.

"Merlin's pants, are you immature prats _really_ still going at that?" asked Hermione from her usual chair, surrounded by books and parchment and wearing a disapproving expression. "They're people, you know - not - not race horses!"

"Did _you_ know Harry's boggart had changed?" asked Ginny, raising her eyebrows as she tucked her feet up underneath her.

"Of course I did," said Hermione, rolling her eyes, and Seamus looked up with a smirk, glancing back at Ginny.

"Of course she did, Weasley - she won, didn't she?"

"I - what?" sputtered Ginny, glancing over at Hermione with a shocked look. The other pointedly looked down at her book, her ears flushing pink. "You're betting too now? That is so unfair!"

"Is not!" countered Hermione. "You know him just as well as I do -"

Which, according to Seamus' records, wasn't too well after all. She had lost on who would win the Seeker's match - and she had lost on who would win at gobstones (it was Harry, surprisingly enough, that one had made a lot of pockets empty) - and who would buy the most come their next trip to Hogsmeade (which, Seamus could admit, wasn't his most brilliant bet, but this had been going on for a while now and it was _hard_ to think up new ones). Overall, quite a bit of money had switched hands back and forth throughout Hogwarts over the past few months and still it was thriving, every week causing happy hearts and sullen stares everywhere as the results were released.

Hermione and Ginny were still arguing.

"- I just don't think it's fair that his best mate gets to place bets on him, that's all! None of us spent eight months in a tent with him, after all -"

"Ginny, you're his _ex-girlfriend_, if anyone knows him -"

"Oh please," said Ginny scornfully and then stopped when she noticed Seamus was listening in again. "I mean, that was forever ago, Hermione, you know that as well as I do."

"_Both_ of you should shut your traps, we have random Hufflepuffs weighing in that are -"

"Excuse me," said a cool voice and all three of them whipped around with wide eyes to see Draco Malfoy standing there looking, as always, pristine and distant. "Are you the one I should see to place a bet?"

Oh God. This was it. This was when Seamus was going to die - not during the war, where he would have been remember with glory and honor - oh no, here, now, in the middle of the eighth years' common room at precisely ten thirty-eight at night and he was wearing his _old underwear _- "Yeah," he croaked out. "That's me."

"Oh, good. Because I would like to place a bet."

Seamus glanced back at Ginny and Hermione, his eyes wide and mildly terrified. "Um," he said, turning back around and composing himself. "Okay then. What about?"

Draco wore a small, self-satisfied smile. "Harry Potter."

"O-kay…. Hold on." It only took the Irishman a moment to find his trusty black notebook and then he held his quill over it, poised to write down whatever Malfoy wanted. "Go on then."

Leaning in, Draco placed his lips at Seamus' ear and whispered for a moment before pulling away with a smug smirk.

Seamus' eyes bulged. "You _what_? I - well, okay… but if we get a hint of love potions -"

"No love potions," said Draco smoothly. "I don't cheat."

Hermione and Ginny shared bewildered looks, but Seamus only had eyes for the Slytherin. "Right, so, how much would you like to put down on it then?"

Draco's smug look grew, if possible, even more smug. "A thousand galleons."

Seamus nearly toppled over. "A - a _thousand_?" he sputtered. "But - that's - that's -"

"Surely not impossible," cut in Draco. "From what I hear, there are enough people that place bets with you now that I could get a pool going."

Seamus blinked once. Twice. Super hard, trying to make Draco Malfoy disappear because this was s_urely_ a mirage. "Um. Okay. Sure. Give me a week, yeah?"

"Sunday morning," nodded Draco. "Then we'll see."

"Right. Sunday."

He left and Seamus turned back to the two girls, his mind still reeling. Immediately they asked him but he simply shook his head, still speechless. "He… he - I can't. I'll have to spread the word eventually, I guess, but for now… a thousand galleons, Merlin."

By Sunday, everyone was talking about the newest bet Seamus Finnigan was controlling - the wildest bet that had been made yet, for a thousand bloody galleons and all for what?

For Draco Malfoy to get Harry Potter to kiss him at breakfast in the Great Hall. Willingly. It would, very clearly, never happen. How could it possibly happen? No, it was a bet that was nearly all one-sided… except for one redhead Weasley girl who placed a tidy sum on Draco's side, refusing to say why when people asked.

The day arrived.

Everyone held their breath as Draco Malfoy entered the Great Hall and calmly strode up to his normal seat the eighth year table, not even glancing at all the mutterings going on about him. Instead, he sat down like it was any other day and started buttering his toast, as if he'd completely forgot about the bet entirely. Everyone else kept their whispers at a minimum, all waiting to see when the fated Boy Who Lived would enter (and did he know what was going to happen? Had someone let it slip? _Surely _no one had let it slip…)

And then - there he was.

"Holy shit," whispered Seamus to Dean. "Holy shit, what if Malfoy _wins_?"

"Relax," soothed Dean. "Harry would never -"

But then he broke off because Malfoy was standing up and taking a last bite of his toast and cleaning his mouth with a napkin and smiling over at Harry who was walking towards them with a smile of his own. Everyone sucked in their own respective breath as Draco stepped away from the table - and he was walking towards Harry - and everyone clearly heard Harry greet him amicably -

And then Draco stopped in front of Harry, stared at him purposely and then said in a clear, carrying voice, "Kiss me, Potter."

Harry blinked. "Here? Right now?"

There - there was the smallest of nods coming from Draco and then -

"Holy SHIT," said Seamus because -

Because Harry leaned in and slid his arms around Draco's neck in a familiar fashion and he kissed him, oh fuck did he kiss him - tilting his head and opening his lips and making a small noise as their lips melded together. But the worst thing about it all… the worst thing was that it looked like a _practiced _movement, a comfortable movement even, as though they'd done it before and they would do it again and -

"Holy shit, are you two TOGETHER?" demanded Seamus, standing up and staring at the two boys with horror.

They broke apart, staring at Seamus, and then, inexplicably, Draco started laughing. He laughed and laughed while Harry stood at his side with fond exasperation colouring his features and - his hand moved forward, taking Draco's. "Did you really have to out us like this?" he asked Draco, shaking his head slightly. "So dramatic…"

"Pay up!" called Draco cheerfully, staring right at Seamus, and then he turned to Harry and kissed him again, just as passionately as the first time. "That'll teach them to make bets about us," he said when they pulled apart, and there was a gloating look to him that shook Seamus to his core.

"Dean," said Seamus numbly as the Gryffindor and Slytherin left the Great Hall, still holding hands. "I think I have a gambling problem."

"That you do, mate, that you do," nodded Dean.

"I need help."

"Yes."

"Shit."

* * *

**a/n:** ah, I love Seamus almost as much as I love Theo, I swear. Seamus, you're such an idiot. Anyway; decided to bring in a few more characters that haven't been mentioned/focused on, so - hoped you liked it! and for those who asked, the last one shot _can_ be connected to Look (Theo/Harry's friendship) but I didn't write either specifically for each other. However, Draco does seem to have an affinity for staring in both, doesn't he? So maybe they are in the same universe. Huh. Go my subconscious.

Review if you want to win one of Seamus' bets! (Harry or Draco is your prize) (or Theo) (or all three, if you're into that kinda thing)


	9. Simple

**Simple**

The air filters in through the window in lazy stripes, dazzling gold streaking across the room and casting the room in equal parts light and dark. Both men lay tangled in the sheets and each other, still breathing heavily from their latest excursion and Harry makes a small sound of contentment as Draco lazily trails a finger over his chest, tracing the path of the sunlight and pausing to press a soft kiss directly in the middle of Harry's chest.

The dark-haired man inhales sharply, eyes dilated, and he stares at Draco with emotions darting like minnows through his eyes - and then Draco glances up at him with a lazy half-smile and his eyes shutter closed, nothing more than twin pools of green. He smiles back as a reflex and then he shrugs Draco off enough to roll over and sit up.

"Already?" asks Draco and Harry doesn't have to look back to see the disappointment flashing over his face. "We just finished."

"I have to get back to work," says Harry dismissively, bending down to pick his wand up off the floor and then muttering a quick Accio. His pants fly to his hands and he stands up to step into them, allowing Draco a brief glimpse of his backside before he's clothed, at least partially. "Anyway, you and I never cuddle after we fuck. That's the beauty of it." A dark smile crosses his face and then his expression turns occupied as he struggles to get into his jeans.

"I don't want to _cuddle_," says Draco defensively, still lounging in the bed. His eyes are at half-mast as he watches Harry nearly fall. "Just… I mean, you don't have to go around in a hurry all the time."

"Work," Harry reminds him.

"Fuck work."

"We can't all be beautiful, blond millionaires, can we?" says Harry and he glances over to flash Draco a sardonic smile, his button-up shirt left open as he pauses. "Come on, Malfoy, this isn't new. We've been doing this for six months now -"

"Seven," interrupts Draco. "And don't call me Malfoy, it makes me feel like we're still at school."

"Seven," repeats Harry thoughtfully, purposely ignoring the other's request. "When did it become seven?"

"Last week."

"You didn't say anything."

"Didn't know I was supposed to."

"No," says Harry, and he is now fiddling around on Draco's dresser, searching for something with a somewhat harassed expression. "Guess it doesn't matter how long, yeah? Surprised no one's found out yet, especially the press…"

There is silence for a moment and Harry misses Draco's wistful expression as he finally finds his watch and lifts it up triumphantly in the air with an, "Aha! There you are, you sneaky bugger." More silence as he fixes it onto his wrist and then turns around with an expectant grin to present himself to Draco, his shirt still wide open and his socks mismatched. "Well?"

"You look like shit," says Draco but his eyes flicker over Harry's chest and then land pointedly on his crotch. "Remind me what is so important about work again?"

"Fuck you," grins Harry, but there's a hint of a flush on his cheeks as he starts buttoning up his shirt and he has to forcibly tell his cock to _calm down. _"By the way - I know we said we were going to grab drinks on Friday, but Ginny just told me that the Weasleys are having a dinner that night and I forgot about our plans and said yes -"

"_Ginny_," says Draco scathingly and Harry glances at him, startled, to find the blond seething. "You're ditching me - our plans - for her?"

"Not just her," says Harry, still blinking. "The Weasleys are having a dinner -"

"Yes, I heard you the first time, fuck you very much," and then Draco is sliding out of the sheets in all his naked glory and stalking towards Harry and shoving him roughly against the wall ("What are you -" begins Harry) and demanding, "Can she do _this_ to you, Potter?" and then he's kissing him hard, kissing him furious and demanding and wanting and longingly and punishing all at once. Harry moans into the kiss, instantly relaxing against the wall and lifting exploring fingers up to twist in Draco's hair the way they both love - and Draco's pulling away just to spit out, "Does she make you _moan_? Whimper? Does she push you to your limits?"

(and they both know she doesn't, they both know she doesn't compare to anything Draco could ever do so Harry just doesn't say anything at all)

"Can she make you…" Hands drift down to Harry's trousers, teasing hands that slide against the rough fabric and then cup him sharply, "make you hard without trying?" and Harry gasps, pushing into Draco's hand and pressing back against the wall all at once. Draco's lips find Harry's neck and he's kissing and biting brutally and licking apologetically -

"No, she's nothing like you, fuck yes," pants Harry, rocking his hips forcefully against Draco. And then Draco spares Harry a meaningful look - a purposeful look - and drops to his knees, clutching at Harry's hips and then tearing apart his trousers with a practiced hand. He smirks at what he finds there, at Harry's long, already-leaking length, and without hesitation he leans in and licks a stripe up Harry's cock, his tongue pressed flat against Harry's pulsing erection.

"Fuck!" cries Harry, his hands finding another tight hold in Draco's hair. "Please, Draco, Draco, yes -"

There is a pause as Draco admires the view before him, admires the wizard begging for his mouth, and then he gives in because he's always been unable to resist Harry like this - all babbling words and panting moans. He takes the Auror in his mouth, takes him as deep as he can, and, "Yes, go, _suck_," Harry pleads, his mind wiped clean of all prior engagements. He is living in the moment, in _this_ moment, with Draco on his knees before him and his eyes - oh, fuck, his eyes boring directly into Harry's.

That almost does it in for the wizard right then and there, but Draco isn't done, not by far. His cheeks hollow out as he bobs his head back and forth, and the sight is beautiful to Harry, far more beautiful than anything else he's seen. Draco on his knees - Draco naked with Harry fully clothed - Draco reaching down between his legs with one hand to stroke his own hard prick while licking at Harry's -

It's too much. All too much, all too unexpected.

He is barely able to gasp out, "Draco - Draco, I'm coming," because he always gives Draco the chance to pull away -

- and Draco always ignores him, instead taking him deeper, sucking hard - making a little moan in the back of his throat as Harry chokes and groans and comes in long spurts. He can hear Draco making his own noises as his hand speeds up and then he feels a slight spattering against his legs - and he lazily peeks an eye opening to see Draco sitting back with a flush, his chest heaving.

There is silence as they both stare at each other and something meaningful pounds in Harry's chest. He's scared to define it, scared not to.

"Ginny and I - we're not together," he finally says in a low voice. "We haven't been since before the war, you know that."

"Answer the question."

"No," says Harry, looking away. "She doesn't make me feel that way. No one does."

Draco gets to his feet, looking just the slightest bit shaky, and then leans into to kiss Harry. _Oh gods_, Harry thinks. He can taste himself on Draco's tongue. "I - work -" he manages weakly as Draco pulls away again.

"Seven months," says Draco quietly, looking away. His hair is ruffled from Harry's fingers and his lips are swollen from Harry's kisses. "We've done this shit for seven months, Harry, and you don't even want to -" He breaks off, looking angry and embarrassed.

"I…" Harry feels awkward. "I thought you liked what we had."

"I _do_."

"I thought it was enough."

"It - it was."

"Hey," says Harry softly, reaching forward and gently touching Draco's cheek. "Hey, look at me."

The blond does, albeit a bit resentfully.

"I… I thought you wanted simple. That's what you said when we started this whole thing. You said, 'Potter, we keep this simple. We fuck and that's it.' That's what you said. I thought that's what you wanted."

Draco stares at him, eyes wide and endlessly gray and more than a little bit frightened. "It is. It was. I - sometimes simple isn't always enough."

"You want complicated?" asks Harry, looking confused.

"No! Fuck, stop - I don't know," says Draco, looking frustrated. He turns around and Harry is distracted once more by his nudity - before he realises that Draco is turning around to tug pants and trousers on. Halfway clothed now, he looks at Harry again with determination ringing throughout his every movement. "I don't want complicated," he says. Inexplicably, Harry feels disappointed. "I just - I just don't want you ditching me for _her_. And yes, I _know_ you're not together," he says through gritted teeth before Harry can protest again. "But I don't want you with _anyone_ - just me. And I want to sleep in with you for once. And I want to go out in public and hold your hand and - goddamnit, I just want more than fucking _simple_."

Harry stares at him after this announcement and the other man is breathing heavily, as if it took physical exertion to admit such a thing. _I'm going to be late for work, _he thinks. And then: _Shit, I'm not going into work. _Also: _All I wanted in life was to be an Auror and now I'm ditching it for a blond shithead. What have I come to?_

"Potter?" asks Draco, and Harry blinks, realizing he has let the silence continue on for far too long. Now Draco looks nervous, antsy, defensive - _worried_.

"More than simple?" murmurs Harry and then he's moving forward and he takes Draco's face in his hands and he leans in and kisses him as warmly as he can. Pulling away, he says, "Go with me to the Weasleys on Friday?"

Draco is shocked. "Potter, I said more than simple, I didn't say _suicidal_."

Harry just frowns at him, unamused.

"I - well -" Draco frowns back at him. "Fine."

The black-haired man brightened to a thousand watts. "Yes? You'll go?"

"I said I would, but dammit, I expect some good fucking presents for Christmas this year -"

"I can give you a good _fucking _present right now," says Harry with a twinkle in his eyes as he wraps his arm snugly around Draco's waist and places his lips at the other man's ears.

"Stop that. I'm not going with you if you make jokes like that."

"It wasn't a joke."

"Shut up."

"Does this make me your boyfriend?"

Draco scowled. "That term makes us sound like we're fifteen years old."

"We can pretend to be, if you're into that sort of kink…"

"God damn, it's been one minute and I'm already sick of you."

Harry grinned and kissed him just underneath his ear. "I know that's just your way of saying you really care for me and want to make me happy."

Draco's voice sounded strangled when he next spoke. "Oh, but I do."

There is quiet in the room as Harry leans in and kisses him, slow and soft and sweet. "I do too." Then he grins mischievously. "Now hurry up and fuck me before Potions starts."

Draco frowns again, confused. "Potions?"

"You know… because we're fifteen. Or did you want to make it Transfiguration? Charms? … Stop staring at me like that or I'm going to dock points."

"You're such a prick."

* * *

**a/n:** can you believe I actually tried to make this one short? man, I fail at that. Soon there shall be one under five hundred words, I vow it! Anyway, for the anon that left me the review - it's considered completed because you could read each separate chapter and it _would_ be completed. It's just a bunch of oneshots placed in the same place; sorry if that irks you! anyone, drop a review if you feel so inclined; hope everyone has a lovely Tuesday!


	10. Haze

**Haze**

You yawn, sitting back in your chair and lazily contemplating finishing up the paperwork still due for the latest case you've been working on… and then instead you Accio the _Daily Prophet_, flip to the back page, and start doing the crossword. The paperwork can last one more day - you'd started the damn crossword earlier and got stuck on _'Supernatural creature designed to guard the entrances to the world of the dead,' _and honestly if you let Malfoy finish another one of these that you can't, you'll break something.

Preferably his face - even if you _are_ reluctantly attracted to it.

"Nine letters…" you murmur thoughtfully, slowly swiveling your chair back and forth in a methodic manner as you tap your quill against your chin. "Sixth letter is an O…"

You're about to give up when suddenly it's there - and you shout, "Hellhound!" just as Astoria Malfoy walks into your office. You're distracted, jotting it down, and only look up when she says your name - and you jump slightly, waiting for the inevitable, _"I know we've had our differences, Potter, but that's a bit uncalled for, don't you think?" _but it never comes.

Instead, she stares at you with a burning in her eyes and her expression nearly unrecognizable - and you jerk to your feet, stomach already twisting in despair. "Is it - him?" you ask and why are your veins suddenly ice-cold, why do you suddenly feel like the world is tilting on its axis?

Fuck.

This can't be happening. Not after - you grip the desk, feeling alarmingly dizzy. "Astoria - fuck, _answer_!"

But when she does, you want to take it back, you want to go back to when she'd never walked into the room - when you knew nothing, and you realize that the saying really is true, ignorance _is_ bliss. Ignorance is bliss because knowledge - this knowledge in particular - is horrific breaking shattering hopelessness rocketing through your brain and your mind and your _soul. _You stare at Astoria and you realize you hate her, you hate her with a fucking _passion _- for being the one to tell you this news, for knowing it first, for marrying him when you never could.

You hate her and yet, staring at her and seeing her stare back at you with those goddamn pitying eyes, you know she is the only person that understands what you're going through at the moment.

"H-how?" you croak out, still swaying, and you back up a few steps until you can collapse back into your desk chair. He would laugh if you could see you now, he would call you weak, pathetic _(and then he would kiss away the insults and stroke your hair and call you gorgeous) _but it doesn't matter, none of it matters, because he's fucking dead anyway.

(dead)

"One of his cases," she says quietly. "He left without telling anyone where he was going… there were too many people there. He was overwhelmed. You know how he is."

Yes, you do, of course you do - you know better than anyone, you want to snarl, but you don't - instead you simply sit there with glassy-eyed panic. How the hell are you going to get through this? How can you possibly move forward with your lie of a life when he's _gone_?

(dead)

"I should've been there," you manage, and she automatically shakes her head.

"You couldn't have known, Harry, that he would have run into trouble this time, when he's done so many cases on his own before now -"

"I SHOULD'VE BEEN THERE," you roar, rising from your chair once more and pointing your wand at her. When did your wand get in your hand? You don't know and you don't care. "He - fuck, how can you just stand there so fucking _calm_? He's gone - _he's_ _gone _-" Maybe if you repeat it enough times, it will start to sink in. Maybe if you accept it, it won't hurt so goddamn much.

(dead)

"The funeral is tomorrow at three," she says, looking away from you. "Narcissa thinks we should get it over with as soon as possible so that the press doesn't learn about it, and I agree."

_Get it over with._

The words ring through your head, around and around until you want to vomit - and you can hear his smirking voice in your head, telling you just to go with it, that women are the bane of his existence and why do you think he needs _you _so damn much?

He's gone, you tell yourself.

Gone, gone, gone, gone, fucking _gone._

(dead as a doornail)

"I should… go," says Astoria when it becomes clear you can't speak, won't speak, refuse to speak. "To help prepare things. I really think he would want you to be there, Harry -"

"You don't know what the _fuck_ he would want," you spit, eyes flashing flames. "You knew nothing about him - _nothing_!"

She stares at you with dark eyes for a long moment and then bows her head, allowing this. "I knew that he loved you. I knew that, even though he was with me, he only ever wanted you."

And that cuts you deeper than any retort she could have possibly said.

She leaves and you are left alone with your fucking crossword and your fucking paperwork and how are you ever supposed to get anything done now? How are you supposed to eat when eating simple foods reminds you of him ("Your tastes are so _mundane_, Potter, when are you going to get sick of your fish and chips and admit that I know best?") and eating rich foods reminds you of him ("Try and get it through your thick skull that my restaurant choices are, and always will be, better than yours. Except - fuck you, okay, yes, I liked that Japanese one, stop _laughing_. Prick.") and alcohol reminds you of him ("Here. What do you mean, what is it? It's a book on wines. _Yes, _they make those. Happy Christmas. Maybe one of these years, you'll actually choose an appropriate wine for dinner.") and even fucking breathing reminds you of him, and oh God, it hurts so much and how how how are you supposed to go on?

Ginny finds you laying on your back on your side of the bed, staring up at the ceiling and trying not to die. The bed dips as she sits down on her side and starts taking off her shoes and you hear her pause once or twice to glance over at you but you refuse to say anything so she doesn't either. Best for both of you, really. And what is she supposed to say - _I'm sorry the man you were cheating on me with got what was coming to him?_

The lights go out, but you stay awake, trying to forget.

You know she's awake too.

You can't bring yourself to care.

"Harry," she finally whispers.

You don't respond.

"Harry. I'm… I know you loved him."

Fuck, did you really have to go through this as well as everything else?

"I'm sorry."

This is the part where you deny you loved him, where you accept her apology, where you turn to her and finally let loose the tears that have been building all day.

Instead, you turn on your side and close your eyes as tightly as you can, wishing you were dead as well. She doesn't say anything else after that.

You wake up the next morning and for an instant you have forgotten that he's dead - and you feel a smile tug at your lips as you remember the plans you have with him - and then suddenly Ginny is cautiously touching your shoulder and you tense and then you hate her too, for reminding you of what you've lost, for not being him, for being so fucking _sympathetic_ after everything you've put her through.

You can admit that she's too good for you, not that it does either of you much good. You still hate her. She's still married to someone who doesn't lover her - worse, to someone who loves someone else. A dead someone else.

(dead)

You sit up, feeling suffocated. "Sleep well?"

"I slept okay." You can feel her hesitating and you close your eyes, knowing what she's going to say. "Harry… the funeral -"

"I'm not going." But you are. You know this and she knows this.

"Did you want me to?"

You stand up and whirl around, your anger lighting up the room. "Do I want my wife to attend the funeral of the man I've been fucking for the past three years? Fuck, Ginny, does that even make _sense_?"

She's quiet, watching you. "I know you're in pain, Harry -"

"You know _nothing_," you hiss, and it's startling how alike this conversation is to the one you had with Astoria. Your wife and his wife. His widow?

(dead)

Her eyes flash; she knows you and she is no Astoria Malfoy. She is Ginny Weasley, and she is stronger than you ever will be. "I know you're in pain, but you still have a family to think about. Our children -"

You wince. How dare she throw that card at you? Now, while you're suffering?

"- are still _ours_, and you can't ignore that."

"I wasn't planning on it."

"Really?" she demands, getting to her feet and glowering. "Because you've been doing a damned good job of it since you met him and started this _fucked up_ business with Draco Malfoy!"

You flinch, then sneer. "Yes, well - guess you won't have to worry about that any more, will you?"

She stops. "I - you know I didn't mean it like that."

"How _did _you mean it then, Ginny?"

"I am your _wife_," she says quietly. "I gave you three children. I've tried so hard -" she chokes and then continues, struggling forward like the soldier you know she is. "To let you be happy, because Merlin knows you've sacrificed more in a lifetime than anyone has a right to. But -"

You know she is only trying to help, just as she has been since day one - plodding along despite everything you've thrown at her, always there for you, always at your side. She has kept your secret and ignored the nights where you don't show, feeding excuses to anyone who asks. Yet she is not him and she never will be - and for a moment you have the darkest thought of your life, you have the thought of, _I wish it had been you instead of him, _and then you immediately retract it, feeling ashamed. "Please can I just get through the funeral," you interrupt in a whisper, and she stops, staring at you with saddened brown eyes.

"I will give you your time to grieve," she says, her voice almost as soft. "I will let you have this final time with him, Harry, but I don't know how much more I can take."

You nod and she disappears and you are left with nothing to do until three in the fucking afternoon.

You miss him. It's only been one day but you already miss him more than anything else, because he has been the one thing that has kept you sane through work and stress and struggling to support your family. Honestly - that was how this all started out. Not as sex, not even as passion; merely a friendship that started five years ago and escalated into… this.

Whatever this is.

Or - rather, was.

(dead)

Three o'clock appears both too slowly and too quickly and suddenly you are standing in the back of a half-crowded room, with a priest at the front and a coffin there as well.

You have the strange desire to laugh as the priest begins talking because Draco was never religious and neither are the Malfoys - so who invited this man? It should be you up there talking, you discussing Draco's merits because you are the one that knew him best - you are the one that heard him discuss his cases, you are the one that's fucked him senseless, you are the one that's held him when he's lonely.

You, no one else.

A wave of emotions crashes over you as the priest drones on and you struggle to identify each separate emotion churning inside you - there is regret _(shoulda married him, shoulda loved him better, shoulda done this and that and not been so fucking cautious) _there is heartache _(no one else will love you the same, no one else will ever compare) _there is anger _(FUCK YOU, DRACO, FUCK YOU FOR NOT STAYING SAFE, FOR ME, DON'T I MATTER) _there is sorrow, endless pools of sorrow that you find yourself sinking in, drowning in, choking in.

The priest pauses his sermon and invites anyone that knew the deceased personally to come to the front and share a memory with the gathered mourners.

There is a long silence, stretching out over everyone like an oppressive cloud, and you know you should go up there - but what would you say? What is both impersonal enough and meaningful enough to share with these strangers? All the things that truly define Draco, that define your relationship with him… The idea of sharing those memories makes your stomach clench into knots.

You could, for instance, share how completely vulnerable he looks (_looked_) after sex, while you prop your head up on his chest and stare into his sleepy, content face. You could share how he whispers his fears to you late at night, how his fingers never stray far from your skin, constantly brushing back your hair or catching hold of your hand or trailing lazily across your chest.

You could share how his eyebrows furrow together when he reads - and that he chooses to spend his time reading thick Potions books, a fact that you teased him about constantly… until the day you found a thin, cheesy romance novel tucked inside the Potions book and then you teased him even more about _that_. You could share that he loves cooking just as much as Potions - how he can prattle endlessly on about making the perfect soup, while pretending in public that he uses house elves for everything. You love tasting his experimental food - you love pretending to choke and gag on it and ducking his reprimanding smack as he tells you that it is better than any other shit you've ever tasted. You tell him you've never tasted shit - and he goes to smack you again before catching you instead and kissing you.

You could share how he looks after a shower, all flushed skin and mussed hair - you could share how beautiful his smile is and how picky of an eater he is as he gets older - you could share how he laughs at all your corny jokes, how he's such lightweight when it comes to hard liquor, how you catch him humming Muggle songs when he thinks you're not listening, the same Muggle songs that you forced him to listen to - not knowing how much he would grow to love them.

You could share all this and more - so much more, so much that it overwhelms you and breaks you and maybe gives you the littlest bit of strength at the same time as well, just because it's him and because he's always somehow managed to give you strength, even when he's not there.

(even when he's dead)

(dead)

"Harry?" asks a quiet voice, and you blink, startled to find Astoria Malfoy standing directly in front of you - and over her shoulder you see people standing in small circles and already trickling out.

The funeral is over and you hadn't even noticed.

"You came," she says.

What the fuck are you supposed to say to that? But she is your only comforter at the moment, the only other person that knew him like you did - even if she is a fraction of what you were to him. "I came."

"He would - it means a lot… to me," she says, eyes downcast.

"Yes, well… I suspect we won't be seeing much of each other any more after this." Not that you went out of your way to see her much before, but well - paths will cross when you're both walking around the same drafty Manor. God, you hated that Manor. Tried to convince him to sell it a thousand times, to no avail. Now you inexplicably miss it.

"No, I suspect not. Your… wife didn't want to come?"

"I told her not to."

"Ah. I see."

Does she?

You see her hesitate and then before you can blink she is leaning in and engulfing you in sweet perfume for the briefest of moments as she hugs you - and then she is pulling back, her Malfoy mask back in place. "I should go see to the other guests."

"Yes."

"It was… it meant a lot."

"Goodbye, Astoria."

And then she is walking away and you are left alone with your goddamn memories at his goddamn funeral and slowly you walk up the aisle - and his coffin is directly in front of you, halfway open, and you want to die, want to black out before you can reach him - but you don't, and then there he is. Frozen and dead and lifeless and dead and no longer yours.

You want to touch him, but you can't.

You want to walk away, but you can't.

Instead, you simply stand there and stare at him - your eyes burning in the familiar way they've been burning all day. "Draco," you say quietly, and he's (dead), "This - fuck - you weren't -" You're already breathing heavily and you clench the side of the coffin, feeling sick, "You weren't supposed to leave me like this. You weren't supposed to leave me ever, and -"

(dead)

(_dead_)

(DEAD)

You can't do this any more.

There is a haze everywhere; filling your thoughts, tugging you towards the numbness. Numb sounds good; numb sounds _safe. _And you have a wife, you have children… but the haze is trickling throughout your body like a slow, thick fog, whispering soft things to you… And you never did want to continue on living without Draco, that was never the plan. The plan was for you both to grow old together, for you to leave your wives and move away and forget responsibilities…

(but now he's dead)

And so you let the haze consume you, falling down down into yourself as you stare at him and you know, if you had a mirror, that your expressions would be the exact same.

(dead)

* * *

**a/n**: soooo, there's me trying my hand at second pov. thoughts? (i was having a really bad day when I wrote this and I thought, hey, might as well make Harry's day horrible as well! hehe)


	11. Restless

**Restless**

Or

_Less Rest for the Eighth Year Boys_

Theodore Nott was fucking _tired - _and, on top of it all, he had spent far too much time in the library to be considered a healthy seventeen-and-a-half-year-old male. Really, was it part of the teachers' lesson plans to make him completely asexual? It had been almost three months and nine days since his last snog - his last _snog_. He didn't even want to think about the last time he'd had sex - Merlin, what was _happening_ to him?

"Stupid - fucking - Transfiguration," he muttered to himself as he stormed up the six billion thousand staircases it took to get to the tower reserved for the eighth years. He hated stairs - and he hated Transfiguration - and he hated the fact that he had chosen to skip lunch and dinner to work on fucking Transfiguration - which brought him back to how much he _hated _Transfiguration - as well as the library -

"Dundercuts," he said sullenly to the portrait designated to the eighth years, and he ignored the Princess' cheerful _Hallooo! _as he stormed inside.

And then he froze. Narrowed his eyes. Glared at the collection of boys laying in various positions of unease around the common room, all in the midst of different forms of distraction.

"What the _fuck,_" seethed Theodore Nott.

Blaise lifted his head up from the couch he was occupying, pauses his solitary game of throw-the-stolen-Quaffle-in-the-air-and-catch-it, studying Theo for a moment with interest before he laid his head back down, resuming his bored expression. "That's all of us, I guess," he declared to the room.

"What the fuck," repeated Theo, scowling. "It's _one in the fucking morning_! Why are - all of you -"

"Oh - hello there, Nott. Come to join our coterie?" ("He's been reading the dictionary again," said Dean in response to the looks of general confusion this word procured.) "And just what are you doing coming in at one in the morning, anyway?" finished Seamus, who, like Blaise had previously, was currently eying Theo with a curious gaze. He was sitting at a table in the corner - no, he was sitting _on_ a table in the corner, counting out a stack of sickles. He smirked. "Finally got a bird, eh? Hey, fellows - who was in the bet that Nott was queer?"

"Fuck you," sneered Theo. He really did have a language problem - and he really was trying to be better about it. However, when an Irishman starts placing bets on your sexuality (at one in the morning, at that), it is not the time to quell your vices. "I was in the library, if you must know. Now, why are -"

"Come on, Nott," came Ron's voice, and Theo's head swiveled to find the redhead lying flat on the floor in front of the fireplace with a - holy shit, was that a _book_? "Why do you think we're all out here? You're a Slytherin, connect the dots."

The world had, quite clearly, ended.

Theo turned in a circle, looking with narrowed eyes at all the utterly exasperated features around him. Neville was playing Exploding Snap in the corner with Dean, Terry was sketching a horrible looking dragon on a spare bit of parchment, Finch-Fletchley was in a lazy discussion with Macmillan - and Draco was -

- Draco was -

"Shit," swore Theo, dropping his heavy bag of books and then glowering as he distinctly heard one side split. "They're -"

"Ten points to Slytherin!" someone called before, "Oh wait."

"Why in the _hell_," said Theo, and he really was going to start swearing less one of these days, as soon as his horny roommates stopped hogging up the dormitory, "has no one gone in there to stop them?"

Ron, from his spot before the fireplace, twisted his head to look over at him, as did Seamus. "You're kidding, right?" asked Ron in disbelief. "Who wants to go up there when they're like that?"

"Well… how long have they been up there?"

"Neville found them around seven," volunteered Dean.

"_Seven? _That was six fucking hours ago!"

"We've checked in twice more," said Neville, sounding gloomy. "After that, we all just sort of…"

"Gave up," finished Ron, sighing and returning to his book.

"Well, not me," fumed Theo. "I'm tired and my head hurts from reading so much and I refuse to let those two fuckers keep me from my _goddamn sleep_!"

And now everyone had completely stopped what they were doing as they watched the former Slytherin storm up the steps and disappear around the bend, his stomping feet clearly heard as he climbed the steps above their heads. There was a pause and then -

"STOP - FUCKING - YOU - ARE - _HUMANS_ - NOT - RABBITS."

Another pause and everyone unconsciously held their breath a bit; Ron had even pulled himself into a sitting position, hopefully eying the entrance to the dormitories. Nothing could be heard from up above and the hope that everyone would finally be able to go to sleep swelled to a crescendo in the common room when -

Theo appeared in a sullen fury, stalking back in and heading straight for his bag.

"Well?" Seamus finally asked.

Theo glared. "I… decided…. that it would be in everyone's best interests to remain down here indefinitely."

Another pause, then, "Still going at it, then?" said Dean.

"Yes."

"We're never going to sleep, are we?" It was Macmillan this time.

"No."

And upstairs in the dormitory…

"I don't understand it though," pouted Harry, his head in Draco's lap as they both lay sprawled out on the latter's bed. "We're _not_ fucking. They could be in here if they wanted to - we're just talking, that's all."

"I don't care, either way," said Draco archly. "I don't really fancy the blokes in our year hearing you ask me what my favourite childhood memory is or what my biggest fear might be. If they want to spend the night down there, they can go right ahead."

There was a sleepy movement and then Harry was sitting up and eying Draco with a warmth that still managed to shoot shivers down Draco's spine, even after all these long hours together. "I love you," he said, and leaned in, kissing him slowly and deeply.

"Mmm, I love you too," said Draco after they'd both come up for air. "But while we have the dorm to ourselves…."

"Wanna have sex on all their beds?"

"Nott's first?"

"You know me so well."

* * *

**a/n:** for angela123111 who wanted a Theo one where he walks in on them "in the middle of it." sorry if I took a little liberty with what exactly you meant by that. Poor Eighth Year boys. Y'all need to tell Harry and Draco to get a room... that isn't yours. Anyway! My weekend's been hectic, but hopefully I'm back on track. This thirty day challenge SHALL BE COMPLETED.


	12. Outside

**Outside**

"Let's go to the beach today," declares Draco, and Harry agrees.

It takes them far too long to gather up all their supplies - too long, Harry thinks as he huffs and sighs and makes pointed glances at his watch. Meanwhile, Draco is gathering enough food for an army, enough towels to cover the entirety of England, enough suntan lotion to swim in.

"Are you're sure you're not taking too much?" asks Harry, hovering over Draco's shoulder as the blonde counts and re-counts the amount of sunglasses they're taking. "It's only the two of us."

"I _know_ you," says Draco with a superior glance over his shoulder at the ex-Gryffindor. "You need a pair for the first part of the day, then you're going to lose it in the ocean, then you're going to lose the second pair when you go to the bathroom and leave them laying by the sink, then you need a third pair for the afternoon and a fourth pair for when you complain that the third pair is too tight. So yes, I am sure I'm not taking too much."

After that, Harry doesn't argue. After that, Harry doesn't do much of all except wander around the flat with a giddy look on his face because Draco _does_ know him and that is a fact that will always bring him warmth.

When they finally arrive, it takes Harry six tries and a promise of a blowjob to drag Draco into the ocean - and there they spend almost two hours, just floating and laughing and trying to dunk each other and kissing and complaining of the salty taste and thinking aloud and getting sunburnt.

"You should put more suntan lotion on," Harry tells Draco as they both flop onto their respective beach towels (Harry's is covered with seashells and Draco's is covered with, for some odd reason Harry has never thought to ask about, mermaids).

"I put on loads this morning," says Draco airily and he closes his eyes, obviously settling in for a long while. Draco has always been able to do that - just lay immobile on a beach towel for hours on end, soaking up the sun like a lazy (white) cat.

Harry cannot, however, and after twenty minutes he is bored and hot and so, with a quick goodbye - that Draco ignores - he's off, wandering down the burning sand, staring at the waves and breathing in the salty air and loving every second of it. And then he finds a short Italian man who is selling ice cream - and he buys two, licking his greedily as he wanders back down to where he left Draco.

Who has fallen asleep and is now a dark, glorious red.

He wants to kick him awake, wants to laugh out a 'I told you so,' but of course he doesn't; instead, he sits down next to Draco and dribbles melted ice cream onto his chest and licks it off with a mischievous smile.

"Fuck," groans Draco, his eyes fluttering awake.

"I told you so," says Harry, grinning. Ah, well. He's never claimed to be perfect, and that is one of the reason he is so right with Draco; they were both broken after the war, both shattered and craving attention - craving each other.

"It hurts," Draco tells him, glowering. "Why didn't you wake me earlier?"

"You looked so peaceful," says Harry, and he is only _slightly _mocking him, in the way that only Harry can get away with.

"I'm going to kill you in your sleep," Draco warns, and Harry kisses him, and Draco tastes hot and warm and sleepy, just the way Harry loves him.

"Think we can manage sex in the ocean?" asks Harry, pulling away and grinning again.

Draco stares at him for a moment and then sighs and says, "Give me that damn ice cream. I'm going to need more energy to keep up with your rabid bunny tendencies."

Draco eats his ice cream.

They have amazing, wonderful, delicious sex in the ocean.

Harry considers the day at the beach a success.

* * *

**a/n:** I love established relationships. And oneshots. And Drarry. AND REVIEWS! Reviews are having sex in the ocean.


	13. Prepared

**warnings: heavy smut  
**

**Prepared**

The room is hot and the silence is thick and then suddenly - "Ah, fuck," pants Draco, his hands fisting sharply in the sheets, and he is on his hands and knees with his arse in the air and Harry is - "Fuck, Harry, oh shit, right _there_," Harry is behind him, gripping Draco's hips tightly and _licking, _his tongue pressed flat as he licks a stripe down Draco's arse. Everything is moving too fast and too slow for Draco all at once and he wants more, more, he wants it all.

"H-Harry," and Draco is keening, embarrassingly loud, and his knees are shaking and he's trying his damnedest not to rock back but his hips are moving involuntary, searching for the heat and texture of Harry's tongue. He buries his head in the bed, his legs falling more open and leaving himself more vulnerable - and Harry makes a pleasing sound in the back of his throat, a sound that shoots straight to Draco's cock. He reaches down, feeling a bead of sweat drip from his naval, and grips his dick, fisting himself and, "Harry, Harry, please, I don't think I can last much longer."

"Relax," murmurs Harry, and then he presses his tongue in as far as he can, past the tight ring of Draco's arsehole. Long fingers dig into Draco's hips, bruising him, keeping him upright as Harry slowly fucks him with his tongue, and then he pulls away slightly and his breath washes against Draco's sensitive skin as he laughs. "Who knew you were this noisy? I would have done this so much sooner if I'd known that -"

"Harry, stop fucking talking, and just _get on with it_," grits out Draco, his hand still slowly dragging along his length - too slow, but he doesn't want to come until Harry's inside of him, until Harry's coming as well. "I'm _ready, _goddamnit."

The confidence Draco's groans produced disappears in a flash and even though Draco can't see Harry's face from this angle, he knows Harry's worried as the black-haired man says, "Are you sure? We don't have to do it tonight, we can wait until later if this is enough -"

"_Harry_."

There is a sharp intake of breath from behind Draco and Draco releases his cock, forcing himself to breath deeply as the bed shifts and Harry gets to his knees behind Draco. And then - "_Fuck_," groans Draco as something hot and heavy and blunt pushes into his arsehole.

"Does it - hurt?" asks Harry, and the effort is plain in his voice as he holds himself still. Draco sneers to himself at the stupid fucking Gryffindor morals of his lover and shoves himself back, pushing the rest of Harry's cock deep inside and both men groaned simultaneously.

"So - fucking tight," says Harry, his voice coming out strained. "God, I love you, Draco, I love you so fucking much -"

"_Move_," commands Draco.

There is a pause and nothing happens and Draco is about to make a snarky comment about how many Gryffindors does it take to screw in a Draco when suddenly Harry is moving, Harry is pulling out and thrusting back in, and all coherent thoughts in Draco's head have disappeared. "Oh," says Draco.

"Oh," agrees Harry, and then, "Oh fuck," because now he's picked up a steady rhythm and he's pushing deeper and deeper into Draco with each rocking movement, his cock disappearing inside Draco and then - Draco sputters out a curse as Harry hits that _spot_, that brilliant mind-blowing amazing spot and they're moving together as one, both shining with a slight sheen of sweat and panting and cursing and it's incredible, it's everything Draco wanted.

There is nothing that has prepared Draco for this moment - for the sound of his own name coming out of Harry's mouth, for the feeling of wholeness reverberating through him by being connected to Harry in this intimate manner. He is not prepared for any of it - and yet he still wants it, wants more, wants it all.

"Harry," he cries out, gripping his own cock harder and fucking his own hand in time with Harry's cock. "_Please_." He doesn't know what he's begging for, but Harry seems to know - and Harry complies, pushing in harder faster sweeter, and then he hears Harry grunt and his thrusts speed up and so does Draco's hand and suddenly Harry's coming, and a moment later so is Draco and they're both soaring high for a moment together before, slowly, the white fades from Draco's eyes and Harry lowers himself down next to Draco.

"Mmm, wait, don't go," says Draco in a slurred voice, his muscles feeling limp as he drapes an arm around Harry's chest and moves closer to him. "Don't leave."

"Wasn't going to," says Harry, just the slightest bit still breathless. There's a pause and then - "I love you."

"Mm, I love you too."

"You're really loud during sex."

"Mmm, sleep now. Go to bed."

"Are you still going to love me if I make fun of you tomorrow?"

"No."

"Yes, you will."

"Maybe. I'm _tired_."

Harry laughed breathily and then pressed a warm kiss to Draco's forehead.

Yes, he wasn't prepared for this _at all._

* * *

**a/n:** so, yes, it turns out this fic is rated M for a reason other than me overusing the f-bomb. and there we have it! this was supposed to be based off Draco being prepared for sex and then it turned into Draco _not_ being prepared for Harry's love. not sure how that one happened. Review if you liked it, cus I thought it was kinda iffy. also, I love that you guys are suggesting things! I'll try to work some of them in, but most of these are just based around the words provided in the thirty day challenge.

**edit:** Ahh, sorry for the double alert everyone! Accidentally uploaded the wrong document. Carry on!


	14. Beginning

**Beginning**

"Why were you talking to that Hufflepuff?"

"No one invited you to sit here, Potter."

"Did you invite that _Hufflepuff_ to sit here?"

"For fuck's sake - I was here first, can't you just leave me alone?"

Glares were exchanged - well, Malfoy was glaring, at the very least. Harry was leaning forward in his chair and examining him with far too much interest to be considered normal. Or healthy. "I just want to know," said Harry, and there was the slightest bit of petulance in his voice, the sound that a child gets when something goes unexpected. And, really, this _was_ unexpected. As hard as he had tried to keep a normal head throughout this whole post-War experience, it was a bit hard to be a normal eighteen year old male when everyone showered him with gifts and compliments and offers to snog at every turn.

It had been a very long time indeed for Harry Potter to ask a question and it go unanswered.

Which meant, naturally, that now he needed to know more than ever.

"He looked like a fourth year - a fourth year Hufflepuff," persisted Harry, resting his chin on the palm of his hand as he studied Malfoy. "What's he got to do with you?"

"Nothing," came the sullen answer.

"Then why was he sitting here?"

"None of your fucking business, now leave me _alone_."

There was silence for a moment and maybe Malfoy thought he was free of questioning, maybe he was silly enough to think Harry would leave him alone, because he wasn't nearly fast enough when Harry snatched a hand out and grabbed the nearest piece of parchment.

"_OI_," said Malfoy furiously, and Harry was surprised to see the tips of Malfoy's ears turning a hot red. "Give that _back_." Was the Slytherin flustered? But what did he have to be flustered about? And why couldn't he just answer the damn question?

"Not until you tell me why you and a fourth year Hufflepuff are spending copious amounts of time together," said Harry, smirking as he clutched the parchment to his chest. "Honestly, Malfoy, don't you know how this game works?"

"This isn't a game," snarled Malfoy. "It's my fucking _homework_, something you obviously don't know anything about. And since when did you know the word 'copious'?"

"Since when did you hang out with Hufflepuffs?" countered Harry, and his eyes flashed a brighter green than they'd been all term because here was someone who didn't answer his every question with a stutter, here was someone who didn't badger him for an autograph every five seconds - and it was oddly… _refreshing. _Plus, it was just fun annoying Malfoy.

"Oh my _fucking_ - if I tell you, will you promise to leave me the hell alone?" demanded Malfoy, and now the flush was spreading to his face and it was really a lot better than his normal too-pale complexion, now that Harry thought about it.

Then he blinked and realised Malfoy was still waiting for an answer. "Oh - right. Yeah. Alone. Sure." A grin spread across his face and he saw the scowl flicker off Malfoy's face for a moment before it returned full force.

"We were - that is, Danny and I -"

"His name's Danny?" interrupted Harry with a teasing glint in his eyes and then his mouth fell open. "Oh Merlin, are you two _dating_?"

There was a stony silence.

"Right," coughed Harry. "Sorry. Go on then."

"As I was _saying_," said Malfoy through gritted teeth, looking thoroughly done with this conversation, "I was just - he needed help on Potions homework. And I saw him struggling with it and Potions is obviously my best subject so I went over and helped him and he asked if I could tutor him, and why the hell not? I'm _good_ at it, and if someone wants me to spend time with them well -" And he had been working up quite a bit of steam during this speech but now he broke off, looking more red in the face than ever and pressing his lips together pointedly. "Okay. That's it. Go ahead, Potter, laugh your arse off."

"I'm not going to laugh," said Harry lamely, because honestly what had he been expecting Malfoy to say? Certainly not that. Certainly not anything _near _that. He swallowed tightly, feeling as though it was suddenly far too hot in the library and they were sitting far too close - despite the broad table standing in between them. "I just… remember you saying something in first year about how if you were Sorted into Hufflepuff, you'd leave. Didn't think you'd ever actually talk to one of them."

Malfoy looked down at the table and fidgeted for a moment, restlessly tugging a spare bit of parchment towards him and shredding it with long, lithe fingers. "That was a long time ago," he finally said, still avoiding Harry's gaze.

"It's really - it's really good," said Harry, looking away from Malfoy as well. "What you're doing with him. It's really good of you."

And then they were both looking at each other and the room grew hotter still and then abruptly, "What is it you want from me, Potter?"

Harry swallowed. "I just - I'm doing… really shitty on Potions myself?"

A long silence.

"I… could help you with that," said Draco. He frowned and then seemed to consider something for a long moment before offering a hesitant half-smile.

And the rest, as they say, was history.

* * *

**a/n:** woops, real life took over for a bit! here's day number fourteen; thank you so much to everyone who's left a review. if you liked this one, please leave another!


	15. Sunset

**Sunset**

"You should go," he says, but silver eyes flash and something pleading shines forth that is barred from leaving vocally. The eyes are the window of the soul, as the saying goes, and Draco's soul is tormented, broken, hungry (_hungry for flesh, for feeding, for dinner yes blood heat blood dripping_). "I'm not fucking kidding, Potter, you have to go." And his eyes finally flit away from Harry's, darting to the one window in the room and he squirms against his chains restlessly, body tense.

It is… enticing.

"Draco," murmurs Harry, and he walks slowly forward, reaching a hand up to press his palm flat against Draco's heaving chest. "Your heart is racing."

"That's because you're a fucking _idiot_!" spits Draco and his eyes roll back in his head, his back arching away from the wall he's chained to as he arches into the feel of Harry's palm. Just that one contact sends electricity rushing through him and he feels like he's on fire (_rip, rip, tear, sink our teeth into his skin and pull sweet muscle away from bone, gnawing gnawing hard_), as though his entire being has been consumed by this one simple touch.

Harry smiles. Harry knows this. "I know what I'm doing. I'm not afraid."

"You should be," groans Draco, panting as he falls back limply against the wall again. His body seems to have come to terms with the chains, though his skin still feels too tight, too hot, too confining. He is trapped by more than just ropes and chains and magic, he is trapped by his very being (_the monster wants loose, the monster wants to play_) and it is enough to drive him mad. "Please, don't make me ask again."

"You smell so good," whispers Harry, and now he is far too close to Draco and his nose skims Draco's cheek as he slowly moves his face down down down moving until he can press his lips right at the point on Draco's neck that he knows makes Draco whine -

Whine and shiver and shake, just like he is now, and "Oh fuck, you can't do this to me," says Draco, his arms straining as he tries to reach for Harry, to pull him closer despite his words. "Not now, not right before -"

"Did you know," interrupts Harry quietly, and his voice alone is enough to make Draco writhe even more, bruises forming where chain meets skin and yet Draco doesn't care, can't care, just wants him, just wants (_blood and sweat and screaming screams pouring out like sweet music to our ears and he's just the first course isn't he Draco isn't he), _"that when animals are in heat, particularly the males, they emit pheromones that attract animals of the same species? And yours, Draco, are _intoxicating_."

And then both of Harry's hands on are either side of Draco's head, pressed against the wall, and they're kissing, heatedly and passionately and Draco attacks Harry's mouth with his own, his lips hard and bruising and eager as they battle for dominance. He gasps as Harry finally pulls away for air and he knows, without looking in a mirror, that his eyes are almost entirely black, that the pupil of each eye has swallowed down all the silver just as the animal within is slowly swallowing up all of Draco and -

"Fuck, Harry, I'm not - you need to - _leave_," chokes out Draco, and it is a show of self-control that he even manages that much when his body is screaming for more of Harry's (_for all of it but mostly the blood, mostly the wet hot delicious blood thrumming through his veins right now and we can smell it and it smells alive but not for long), _"The moon, Harry," his voice is raw, "The moon is coming."

"Relax," says the other, green eyes shimmering in the glow of the sinking sun. "We've done this before. We do this every full moon. Trust me."

Draco's throat is dry.

And then Harry is leaning back in and they're kissing and everything is blissfully blank (_well, almost, because I'm still here, don't forget me_) and this kiss is almost gentle, a rarity for nights of the full moon. Soft, slow kisses are for the morning after, for the healing, but now is for the harsh, the rough, the brutal. And then his hands start creeping up Draco's sweat-soaked sides and the kiss picks up, gaining momentum, and if Draco didn't have his chains, he would be throwing Harry to the ground and ripping the clothes off him and (_biting and licking and drinking_) fucking him into the floor of the tiny shack they're in but instead they are left with this and only this, reduced to a pair of blokes snogging frantically like inexperienced teens.

Harry's hands are roaming further, growing bolder, and then the front of Draco's trousers are unzipped and his hard cock is pressing almost painfully against his pants and then -

"Harry," says Draco, breaking away with a wild gasp and forcing himself to stare up at the ceiling. "Harry, you have to leave. I can't do this with you - not now, not here."

There is silence and then, "I don't want to go," whispers Harry. "I don't want to leave you like this - fucking _chained to a wall_, with no one here to help you if something goes wrong -"

"I don't want you to see me like this," interrupts Draco, and he glances down into Harry's eyes.

Mistake.

"Stay," Draco purrs, his eyes growing wide and he leans into Harry, thrusting his hips slowly forward in a sensuous manner as far as he can reach - which is just enough to feel the slight outline of Harry's own burgeoning erection. "Stay with me, Harry, stay if you love me, stay if you want me…"

Harry's expression hardens and he moves away from Draco, taking his heat with him and Draco (_we_) whimpers (_we whimper_), ducking his head slightly. "You don't love me?" asks Draco in a low voice, eyes burning as he stares at the other man.

"Draco," says Harry, entirely frustrated, and then he glances for the first time out the window and sees only a sliver of light left, sees dusk slowly melting away as darkness quickens throughout the land. He looks back at Draco, green eyes on fire, and then he takes Draco's face in his broad, callused hands and kisses him once, hard and short and too fast for Draco (_us_) to react. "I love you. I'll be back in the morning - you're strong, okay? Stronger than," the wolf, they both think, "anyone I know, and this can't control you. It _can't_. You're better than it ever will be."

They share a last look and then Harry pulls his wand out and Draco keens, high-pitched and needy as he leans into his chains, cutting his skin and at last there is blood but it's not what he wants, not the blood he longs for. He can feel it seeping into his thin clothes, dripping down his arms and sliding like drops of rain against his skin, and it stings but he would go through it all just to feel Harry (_just to rip Harry apart_).

"_Harry_," he says, but Harry merely presses his lips together and stares at him a moment longer, eyes achingly sad, before the air around him wavers and he Disapparates.

Draco is alone.

Alone with his chains and with (_me_) the darkness growing inside him and with the bloodlust that will soon overtake any and all rational thought.

Draco is alone and he is happy that way because alone means Harry can't be hurt.

The sun falls completely below the horizon.

The moon takes its place.

_We are alone._

* * *

**a/n:** so today was a horrible day for me because 1) I had to wake up at six thirty to go to work and 2) I accidentally washed my phone so now I am completely cut off from all of society and also 3) I just sort of feel horrible. And guess what happens when I have a bad day? Youuuu guessed it! (or maybe you didn't) Draco and Harry _also_ have horrible days! Hey, what can I say - it's cheaper than therapy. So, I have a thing for werewolves, especially the whole pheromone thing because guh, okay, crazy-possessed-Draco is hot, am I right? Anyway, hope this made any bad days out there a little bit better, and thanks for getting halfway through this challenge with me.

(reviews make up for the fact that I have no phone right now)


	16. Flame

**Flame**

Or

twenty things draco malfoy hides from the world

**one**

He is terrified of fire. Every time he sees a candle, every time someone sets off sparks, every time he needs to heat up his cauldron during Potions class, every time someone suggests flooing, all he can see is the Room of Hidden Things and feel the flames reaching with angry tendrils to grab him, scar him, eat him up, and he never admits it but sometimes he wakes up at night, drenched with sweat and all he can see is Crabbe dying, all he can hear is Crabbe screaming, all he can see are flames flames flames reaching out to kill him and it's too much to handle. It is those nights he can never get back to sleep and those nights he creeps out of the castle and sits by the lake because there is something safe about sitting next to the biggest amount of water he can find. Water is his friend. Water comforts him.

And anyway, he can't stay in the common room because there is a fire there.

**two**

The dirt has barely hit the floor and the Dark Lord has barely been dead for a second before Draco is wrenching back his sleeve and staring at his left forearm and sobbing as the Dark Mark fades from burning black to smoky gray to barely there to gone and he sinks to his knees and kisses his arm and it sounds stupid but he's just so fucking glad that it's all over that he can't help it. And when he glances up and sees Harry Potter staring right at him, he can't even find it him to be ashamed, can't do anything but mouth the words _thank you._

**three**

Six years almost exactly to the day, Harry is hovering over Draco and they're both stark naked and lazy and Draco is running a hand through Harry's mussed hair and Harry leans down and kisses the exact spot where the Dark Mark used to be. And then he looks up at Draco and he smiles that half-smile that Draco fucking loves and murmurs, "We made it."

**four**

He cries when his father gets sentenced to life sentence in Azkaban.

He cries and screams and throws his mother's favourite antique vase at the wall and he curses Harry fucking Potter's name as loud as he can because how come the fucking Boy Who Lived could help Draco and Narcissa and just leave Lucius to rot?

(he knows, deep down, Lucius deserves it)

(but, still, it's his _father_)

"I'll never forgive him," he tells Narcissa, eyes bloodshot and hair a wreck and chest aching. He wonders what Azkaban is like. He wonders if his father will think of him. He hates Harry Potter.

"Draco," says Narcissa, and she is more composed than him but just barely and she reaches a hand out to cup his face. "He couldn't save everyone."

Months later, he goes back and repairs the vase.

(he also forgives Harry Potter)

**five**

One of the things that hurts Draco the most happens during an Eighth Year Hogsmeade visit, when Theo suggests they all go to the Three Broomsticks for some drinks and Draco agrees and Pansy and Blaise follow along and for a moment it feels like old times before the reach the door and Draco is halted.

"You're Draco Malfoy?" demands a burly, thickset man, holding a hand out to stop Draco from entering. The man glowers, expression dark, and crosses his arms at Draco's curt nod, everything about him intimidating. "Not allowed to pass."

"Pass?" asks Draco, taking a step back and feeling cornered even though he's standing in the middle of an open street. "I -"

"You have been restricted from entering due to the use of the Unforgivable spell used during your Sixth Year of Hogwarts," intones the man and his words seem to echo throughout Draco's mind over and over again, repeating themselves until they're engrained in his very being.

Numbly, he remembers nodding and then turning on his heel and fleeing and no one follows from his group, of course they don't - _they're _still allowed to go in because _they _didn't Imperio the owner and - and he's tripping and stumbling and people are laughing and then -

"Hey!" shouts a voice and Draco runs faster, only stopping once he reaches the Shrieking Shack and is bent over, unable to breathe. "_Fuck_," says the same voice, just as winded. "Did you really have to run all the way out here, Malfoy? Couldn't you just walk off like a normal person -"

"Fuck off," manages Draco, bent over and red-faced. He stands up and turns around, withdrawing his wand only to find - "Potter?"

"Put that away," commands Harry irritably, scowling as he straightens as well. "I just - we were wondering if you wanted to come to the Hog's Head with us. We were going there anyway and, well -"

"I don't need your pity," snaps Draco, and now he is red, not from exertion, but from humiliation, from embarrassment, from _shame_. "Besides, isn't this what I deserve? Don't I _deserve_ this? All of it?"

Harry studies him for a long moment and then shrugs, reaching up a hand to awkwardly push his hair out of his eyes. His fringe is too long. "Maybe you do," he allows. "But everyone makes mistakes."

"Not everyone makes mistakes like I did," says Draco bitterly, looking at the ground. In that moment, it feels as if the entire war rests on his shoulders, as if every death was his fault, as if every moment Voldemort lived is a direct result of him. And there is a long silence and he feels his stomach sink even lower because Potter left, of course he left, why would he stay when Draco has never done anything to really help him - and he looks up, unable to resist -

Only to find Harry still staring at him, eyes unfathomable. "Everyone makes mistakes," he repeats. "But not everyone runs away when they can't face the consequences. When are you going to stop running, Malfoy?"

And he turns, and he walks away.

Draco doesn't follow, but he doesn't forget either.

**six**

The first bloke he ever kissed was a Muggle. When he pulls away after a long moment and stares at the man and reaches up to touch his lips and hears the man purr, "Want more, love?" he thinks to himself that if Voldemort had been snogged by a Muggle like this, than there would have never been a war at all. Because this man is just as much of a human as anyone Draco has ever kissed. His smile is intoxicating and his eyes are entrancing and how could Draco ever think he was better than someone just by being born a wizard? Everything feels upside down in that moment and not because Draco has just kissed a bloke for the first time. He wonders what his family would do if they knew. And then immediately decides he doesn't give a shit.

So Draco simply smiles and say, "Yes," and thinks to himself that blood has never mattered less than during this act of kissing this random Muggle bloke.

**seven**

He loves Harry's hands. He loves the feel of them intertwined with his, pulling him along down a crowded street and clenching tight during stressful moments. He loves watching Harry point excitedly at something new, he loves watching Harry twists his fingers nervously together when he and Draco sit down for a dinner with Narcissa for the first time, loves watching those hard, callused hands hold a wand or fly a broom.

He loves watching as Harry's fingers clench in the sheets as he moans; he loves the feel of Harry's long fingers in his hair as he sucks him to the root, guiding Draco along with gentle pressure and pleading with him for more heat.

But mostly he loves the moments after sex when they're both panting and tired and happy and Draco is laying on his back and Harry is on his side next to him. He loves when Harry traces each mark and scar on Draco's body, loves the feel of idle fingers tracing each blemish. There is, of course, the scars on his chest that Harry himself caused. Those are the scars that Harry's fingers tremble over, skirt over quickly as though he's ashamed. Then there are the burns from the Fiendfyre that Harry drags his fingers over slowly, running over the cursed wounds that stick just a little bit above Draco's skin. His fingers skim over each old cut, over the bruise Draco got from running into the table, over the nick his knife caused when he was cutting Potions ingredients. They caress Draco's body as though he is something more than human, as though he is made of a fragile glass that will shatter with too much force.

He loves Harry's hands.

**eight**

After the war, Draco picks up smoking. He knows it's not healthy, he knows it causes all sorts of diseases, but, hell, isn't he allowed one bloody vice after all he's been through? Pansy picks up drinking - rumors are that she drinks a little too much, but who can blame her - and Blaise picks up insomnia and Theo picks up those stupid fucking dry comments he makes all the time and Potter picks up his old habit of following Draco around wherever he goes, so shouldn't Draco be allowed to have a simple fag now and then? So he does. He smokes. And he gets really fucking good at it; too good probably. He likes to think that it makes him look striking.

**nine**

One day, when he is nearing thirty and married and Harry wants kids and Draco can't because how can he ever be a good father when his own was such _shit _- one day, he goes back to Hogwarts and approaches McGonagall and asks to see the inside of her office.

He expects her to ask questions, expects her to be suspicious of his intentions - but she doesn't. She doesn't do anything but give him a grim, startling smile (is that the first time she's smiled at him?) and lead him to her office and give the password and then she gestures to her chair and says, "Take as long as you'd like."

And then she leaves.

And for the first time in a very, very long time, Draco has a conversation with Severus Snape.

The first words out of his mouth are: "I miss you."

**ten**

He never does produce a patronus.

**eleven**

Draco loves cooking. He loves cooking slow, the Muggle way, taking his time and measuring out each ingredient so precisely that Harry laughs at him and mocks him and sometimes uses magic just to speed things up which infuriates Draco so much he threatens to not let Harry eat anything.

**twelve**

Which is probably exactly why Harry uses magic on Draco's cooking because, as wonderful as he is at Potions, he is fucking horrible at cooking, and no matter how much he tries, no matter how precise he is, something always goes wrong and it always comes out flat or lumpy or burnt or too sugary and yet Harry manfully eats it anyway and, Merlin, Draco loves him.

**thirteen**

It takes him a very, very long time to admit that he's ticklish and it is only after Harry has attacked him with roaming fingers nine times that he finally admits to himself that maybe he is after all.

**fourteen**

He discovers, during Eighth Year, that Ron Weasley is actually rather clever. Everyone else has gone to bed and Draco is reading a Potions textbook when the redhead appears out of nowhere and sets a chess board down in front of Draco and declares they're going to play. They play a game a night for a week before Draco finally beats him and when that happens Ron gets to his feet and offers him his first smile and holds out his hand.

It takes Draco a long moment before he stands up as well and takes it.

"Good game," says Weasley.

"You'll win the next one," says Draco, too surprised by this whole ordeal to be ashamed that a Weasley is beating him at anything, much less chess (something he has always prided himself on).

Weasley's smile grows. And then he looks away and says gruffly, "Maybe Harry's not wrong about you."

(and, in fact, he d_oes_ beat Draco at the next time they play)

(but somehow Draco still doesn't mind)

**fifteen**

One time, at the end of Eighth Year, Seamus Finnigan sneaks in a barrel of firewhiskey and declares they're throwing a party. Draco is hesitant to join in but nearly everyone, even Granger, is taking a glass and when _Granger_ is participating - well, he takes one too. The party grows and suddenly there are more than just Eighth Years in the common room, suddenly there is a whole hoard of people milling about and laughing and everyone just keeps getting drunker and drunker. The room is spinning and Draco is laughing harder than he has in a long time and that's when things get blurry and when he wakes up the next day he is sprawled out behind a couch and Ginny Weasley is next to him and they're both half-naked and she's staring at him in complete horror.

"Don't tell anyone," she immediately orders, brown eyes wide and face a dark red.

He's just as horrified. "Did we -"

"Just a snog," she interrupts, and now her whole face is just one tomato and he snogged _Ginny Weasley_?

"If you tell -" he begins, and her expression hardens.

"I _won't_. And you won't either. No one. Not anyone. Not even your closest friend. Not even your bloody _house elf, _not even if you're under the Cruciatus, not even if they force feed you Veritaserum," (and isn't she going a little too far with this? He's not _that_ bad of a snog, is he?), "and if I find out you told anyone, I'll hex you so hard you never change back and oh, Merlin, I snogged a _Malfoy_," and then she's jumping up and running away and Draco lays back down and stays behind that couch for a very, very long time.

Harry never does learn that his ex-girlfriend and future husband once had a very heated snog behind a couch, yet sometimes Draco catches Hermione smirking at him and he wonders if maybe Ginny gave in and told someone after all.

It really wasn't that bad of a snog, if he remembers correctly. Or maybe it was. Was it?

**sixteen**

Narcissa dies just after Draco's twenty-eighth birthday and it a quiet, sad affair caused by a bad bout of Dragon Pox. He sits by her empty hospital bed for the longest time and then Apparates back to the flat he shares with Harry, a resounding emptiness echoing in his chest, and, unlike for Lucius so many years ago, he doesn't scream, he doesn't wail, he doesn't throw things. He merely sits down and stares at the opposite wall and that is how Harry finds him three hours later. There is nothing but silence between them and Draco can't even bother to dredge up enough effort to look at Harry when suddenly there are arms around him and Harry lifts him, not making a sound as he carries him to the couch and there they both curl up, Draco's face pressed into Harry's chest as he weeps silently for the mother who risked everything for him.

**seventeen**

The first time he tells Harry he loves him is when they're flying. They're both chasing the Snitch and they're alone in a random field and the Snitch is getting closer and yet Draco can only watch Harry - and he sees it all in that moment, sees all that this man has become to him with his bloody hair and tan hands and wicked green eyes and bright, mischievous smile as he turns to look sideways at Draco for a moment -

And it spills out without Draco even thinking, just, "I love you," and there it is, soaring along in the air with them and then he watches Harry falter and the Snitch moves out of Harry's grasp and Draco snatches it, right out the air. Then they're both staring at each other, unable to move, and the Snitch is struggling against Draco's fist, weakly trying to escape and maybe Draco's made a mistake, maybe he's said it too soon and -

"I love you too," says Harry. His smile is brilliant.

**eighteen**

On the top of their wedding cake, years later, sits that same Snitch, fluttering every now and then but otherwise peacefully sitting on top of the white three-tiered cake until they're finally standing side by side and holding the same knife and Draco leans into kiss Harry right as they cut the first slice and, as if that were its cue, the Snitch took off, flying away away away.

**nineteen**

He never really can explain how much it means to him the first time he meets Molly Weasley.

Harry goes ahead of Draco into the kitchen to make sure everything's all right and Draco follows tentatively, more afraid than he will ever admit to meet the faux family of his boyfriend - and there she is, short and round with her loosely pinned hair and mussed apron. And sitting in between them is the amount of times Draco has made a snide comment about their wealth or their house or this woman right here and wow, he was a shithead, wasn't he?

They stare at each other for a moment, neither saying a word before Draco awkwardly clears his throat and gestures around to the Burrow and murmurs, "You have a very lovely home, Mrs. Weasley -"

And that's it all it takes.

"No, no, call me Molly," she clucks, moving forward and pulling him into a warm, tight, motherly hug before pulling back to examine him. One hand goes up to cup his cheek and he thinks to himself that this is how a mother should be. He loves his mother, he will always love a mother, but this - this short, rotund woman who is beaming up at him and still managing to look concerned and reproving all at once… This is a mother. "Harry, you haven't been feeding him enough, he looks like a skeleton, Merlin's pants, I do hope you're hungry because I've fixed enough for an _army_ -"

Draco glances hesitatingly over her shoulder at Harry, meeting his eyes, and, when Harry nods encouragingly, looks back down at Molly. A small smile curves his lips.

"Have you? I'm so glad; I'm _starving_."

**twenty**

"Hey - Malfoy - Malfoy! There's a seat over here, if you want it."

Draco stares at the seat indicated, feeling trapped. The common room is crowded; there are no other seats and his bag is cutting into his shoulder with the weight of all the books inside. "I - um…"

Harry immediately flushes. "Oh, were you - er, were you going up to the room? I was just… this seat is empty."

The seat right next to Harry. Harry fucking Potter is offering him the seat directly next to him - which just so happens to be the same seat directly located next to the cheerfully burning fire. Fuck. How does it not even _affect_ him? He went through the same experience Draco did - he felt the same raging flames brushing against his legs as they flew frantically through the air. So how can he just be sitting there - sitting there like it's _nothing_?

"I…"

_When are you going to stop running, Malfoy?_

_When are you going to stop running?_

_When are you going to stop_

"Yeah," says Draco, too loudly, too abruptly. "Yeah - I'll sit."

He walks closer and drops down in the seat, his face flushed from his hesitation and from the mere fact that this is the first time he's spoken to Harry since he was followed to the Shrieking Shack a couple of weeks ago. "Where's Granger and Weasley?"

"Off somewhere," shrugs Harry, not seeming concerned in the slightest. "Did you figure out that Potions homework?"

Draco stares at him and then his gaze flickers to the fire and he is paralyzed for a long moment, his breathing picking up as the fire grows and grows and swallows the room and burns everyone alive and he will die here and now without telling anyone goodbye -

"Draco?"

It is the first time Harry has said his name. His real name, not his surname.

Draco wrenches his gaze away from the flames with what feels like an excruciating effort, and suddenly everything feels calm as green eyes stare at him, just the slightest bit concerned. "Potions," he says, licking his lips. "Yeah, I got it. Need help?"

* * *

**a/n**: whew, so this one took me forever to finish, I swear. And then I had to edit it all and that took forever as well, and... geez. Anyway, hope you guys like this one; everything kind of skips around and I wanted to play with different moments in Harry and Draco's relationship and also, I've always felt that Draco would be terrified by fire. It just seemed fitting. If you liked it, leave a review - I'd love it if you told me which number you liked the best! thanks to everyone who's favorited or story-alerted so far, you guys make my days so much brighter.

cheers x


	17. Wind

**Wind**

The Burrow stood like a beacon of warmth in the same spot it had for longer than the locals cared to think about. It was crooked and too-tall and the garden was sprawling and hideous and next to the house stood a run-down shed, as if the yard wasn't mussed enough already. For the longest time, it had been nothing but chaos; nothing but red-haired children running around and screaming and fighting and it had been a topic of idle gossip for years for the lazy frequents down at the town pub. Now, though - now things seemed quieter, more controlled, and if anyone had cared to watch it on this particular Saturday in March, they would have noted that there was absolutely no movement outside of it -

Until suddenly there was a _pop _and two blokes appeared out of thin air, both looking rather rumpled.

"Bugger, that wind was rough," said the dark-haired one, brushing off his robes and then looking around for his companion, asking, "Draco?" as he did so. His expression grew amused as he spotted the other man and then exasperation took over. "You know, I _did _warn you that we were about to Apparate -"

For the blond man was looking entirely sick to his stomach, and he bent over at the waist, hands on his knees as he groaned. "I think I'm about to faint. I'm - fuck, I'm about to faint, Harry, let's leave, now before they come out -"

"Don't talk like that when you meet them," chided Harry with a good-natured expression, and he moved forward, arm outstretched like he was about to touch the blond when suddenly the other man jerked away, expression horrified.

"No - no, look at me! Look at - my hair!" sputtered Draco and his hands jerked to his head, touching the windswept hair and looking quite as though he were about to fall apart. "I can't meet _anyone_ right now, much less everyone that you've ever loved! Let's go - let's go home," but instead of taking out his wand and Disapparating, he merely grabbed the other man's hand and took off at a panicked run straight towards the shed. The door burst open as they neared it and Harry barely managed a sputtered, "The _hell_," before Draco had pulled them both inside and the door was shut, leaving them in complete darkness.

There was silence for a moment and then, "Draco."

"I know you think I'm being irrational right now, but it's all right for you to go around looking like your just hosted an entire family of birds in your stupid hair because you're the fucking _Boy Who Lived _but some of us don't have that bloody reputation, you know, some of us have to actually try to look _nice_ and presentable sometimes. I told you we should have just left from the flat but instead you wanted to take a walk first, Merlin knows why, and the wind _completely _messed it up, and, and -"

"Draco."

" - and also these clothes are disgusting and I know you can't see them right now because we can't see anything but if you could, you would see that they don't really match and the trousers are too tight and -"

"_Draco_."

Another pause and then, petulantly, "What?"

Harry sighed slightly and then muttered a spell and the area between them suddenly glowed, luminous in the light of Harry's wand. "Are you going to tell me what's really going on here or am I going to have to hex it out of you?"

They stared at each other for a long moment, green eyes battling with grey before Draco gave in and looked away, crossing his arms tightly against his chest and pursing his lips. He seemed to fight with himself for a second before muttering, "This place is filthy."

"It's a _shed_."

Draco's eyes flickered back up to Harry's face and his expression hardened, his posture growing still more tense. "But that's what I'm talking about, right there - I pointed it out and you didn't. And - and what if something like that happens when we go inside? What if I just accidentally point something out that they find offensive because that's the way I was raised? I'm not _like_ you; I can't help it that I'm -"

"Rude and inconsiderate and snarky," finished Harry, and it was obvious, even in the low lighting, that his eyes were glittering with affection.

Draco sulked. "Right. Thanks for summing up all my flaws. Or - oh, were you done, or were you going to keep listing?"

"Oh, you idiot," smiled Harry, and he leaned in and kissed him, warm and quick and fleeting, pulling back before Draco could properly respond which only made the Slytherin sulk more. "You're too clean and you find something to complain about in every situation but you're also dead witty and charming when you choose to be and a handsome git that knows he looks fucking hot in tight trousers -"

"Harry," said Draco pleadingly and Harry stopped, looking confused that his flattering tone and bedroom eyes weren't working. Draco swallowed and looked around, fumbling for a moment before he sat down heavily on a dust-covered stool, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward. "Can I just have a moment?"

"Of course," murmured Harry quietly, and he hesitated a moment before finding a crate and dragging it over to sit across from Draco, his wand askew and casting shadows all over the tiny room. They sat there like that for a moment, Draco hanging his head and hiding his face and Harry staring at him with a worried expression tugging his eyebrows together. Time seemed to drag onward in slow, pulsing amounts and they were almost certainly late for dinner when Harry finally whispered, "What is it that you're afraid of?"

The answer came immediately, as though Draco had been waiting for this prompt the entire time: "They'll hate me."

"They won't."

"Why shouldn't they? I - fuck," Draco looked up now, eyes wild. "I've done nothing but insult them for years, Harry! Everything about them, and I'm the reason Greyback got a hold of the oldest one and it's not like I've really changed that much -"

"You have," interrupted Harry firmly, eyes hard behind his glasses. "You're different now, Draco, and even with all of that, I still love you. Hell, I have far more reason than they do to dislike you and if I canlove you, then they can too, you poncey git. And - and if they can't see that, then we'll just leave, okay? If it doesn't work out, we'll just walk out."

Draco gaped. "But - I can't - you can't just _leave_! Fuck, Harry, are you that _stupid_? They're your family, your only family and -"

"You're my family now too," said Harry, and he dropped his wand onto a leaning tower of boxes and reached out, taking hold of Draco's hand and intertwining their fingers together. "Hey," he said quietly, eyes intent as he squeezed the other's hand. "Are you listening to me? This is going to go all right. You just have to believe me."

Draco stared at him, pressing his lips together, and then asked, "Weren't they upset about you and Ginny?" A scowl crossed his face, as if just saying her name left a sour taste on his tongue, and then he composed himself, obviously waiting for the answer.

Harry sighed again. Always possessive, always jealous; that was Draco Malfoy for you. "They were upset, of course, because they wanted me to be an actual part of their family but they got over it. That's what family does; they move on and forget. So even if this goes badly… it'll work out in the end. First impressions can change."

"You're such a fucking Gryffindor sometimes."

"You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It _is_ a bad thing."

"Hey, remember that time your dad almost wrestled Ron's dad in Flourish and Blotts?"

Draco groaned and Harry grinned, knowing he won that round. Then they both sobered up and Draco stood, clearing his throat and looking entirely too nervous for a simple dinner with the Weasleys. "Well," he said, and then flushed. "Kiss for good luck?"

"You git," said Harry, but he stood up and slid his arms around Draco's waist, smiling affectionately at him for a moment before leaning in and kissing him as warmly as he could. It was slow and soft and when Harry tried to pull away after a moment, Draco followed, making a small noise of protest in the back of his throat as his arms tightened around Harry's neck and kept his close. The shed seemed to grow smaller and hotter and Draco's tight trousers really _did_ look spectacularly nice and maybe they should just skip the damn dinner after all -

"I suppose we should go in now," said Draco, pulling away and looking reluctant. "Even if my hair _does _look like shit. Fucking wind."

"I like it that way," commented Harry absently. "Makes you look like you just got fucked." He smirked. "By me."

"Ugh, even worse," said Draco, pulling away and walking towards the door. "That's what they probably think we did in this stupid shed, you know. Fuck."

Harry grabbed his wand and followed, eyes skimming down Draco's arse and then grinning to himself. "We still can, if you want."

"No. It's disgusting in here. And not because it's the Weasley's but because it's a _shed_. Well - okay, maybe a little because it's the Weasley's. Having sex here would just be _wrong_." Thin shoulders suppressed a shudder and Harry snorted.

"They're going to _love_ you."

Draco paused at the front door and turned around, grey eyes unfathomable. "Really?"

Harry smiled. "_I_ love you."

"Will you…" Draco hesitated. "Go in first?"

"Of course," said Harry, and he leaned in and kissed him again, wondering just how he managed to fall in love with such a complete idiot. Then he pulled away, grinning. "Try not to insult their house, okay?"

A scowl. "I'm not stupid."

"Could have fooled me. Who was it that just had a panic attack in a shed again?"

"Fuck you."

"Changed your mind about doing it on the Weasley's property then?"

"_Harry_," groaned Draco.

There was a slight snicker and then Harry opened the door and Draco only had a single second and one deep breath before he walked in after, heart racing all the while.

**mnm**

He never really can explain how much it means to him the first time he meets Molly Weasley.

* * *

**a/n:** So, of the people that left reviews for the last chapter, it seemed that number nineteen was the most popular, so I decided to elaborate on it a bit! See - leaving reviews _does_ make a difference. Speaking of reviews, thanks goes to Neomeris for reviewing almost every chapter yesterday; waking up to see all that was a magnificent surprise. Hope everyone has a great week!

cheers xx


	18. Snowflake

**warning: **(for beautifulbee22) angst alert!

* * *

**Snowflake**

or

_Seven Lies_

**one.**

"Do you love me, Harry?"

The question hangs in the air and Harry stares blankly at the woman sitting across from him, blinking at her for a long moment before reaching across the table and taking her hand. Her palm is rough from holding tight to broomsticks but her fingers are long and slender and her nails are painted a dark red. A dark red that matches her hair, he thinks to himself, his eyes flickering to the face of Ginny Weasley and drinking in all her familiar features.

She is lovely, he knows, and she is. With her long red hair, curled at the tips; with her big brown eyes, eyes that can accuse just as fast as they can sparkle with laughter; with her fierce fighting attitude and incredible flying techniques.

She is lovely, but she is not what he wants.

The war has been over for five months and they have been together four out of those five, and shouldn't he feel more than this by now? He thought it was just aftereffects of the war, at first, the emptiness inside his chest that never seemed to leave. Everyone was affected by it; everyone said they understood. But they didn't. They didn't wake up in the middle of the night, gasping and screaming and frantically searching for people that were no longer there. They didn't feel the burdens of thousands of deaths on their shoulders, deaths that only happened because of _him_. They hadn't died and come back, they hadn't stared into the eyes of Voldemort and felt death coming towards them, they hadn't seen all he'd fucking _seen._

He thought it would go away, but it hasn't, and now, meeting Ginny's eyes across the table, he wonders if she knows that.

_Do you love me, Harry?_

No. He doesn't. He doesn't love anyone, doesn't feel _anything_. Flying is nothing more than muscles contracting and limbs shifting. Reading is nothing more than eyes scanning and hands turning pages. He lies to his friends, he lies to everyone who ever asks if he's okay. He is nothing. Nothing. He is an empty grave, he is a blank book, he is a snapped wand.

He opens his mouth and for once he is feels compelled to tell her the truth, to tell her what he's really feeling, but when he says, "_No_," it sounds like, "_Of course_," and then she is smiling and leaning in and kissing him lightly and how can he bear to correct himself when making her happy is so goddamn easy?

**two.**

"Harry, you don't have to do this," says Hermione.

They are standing at the counter of the Three Broomsticks waiting for Madam Rosmerta to return with the drinks they're getting for the rest of the group at the back and Harry is pulling out his money bag and counting out the right amount of money; at her words, he looks over, utterly confused.

"Buy drinks for everyone?" he asks, blinking. He does that a lot. He blinks at people. Maybe because a small part of him hopes that on the next blink, the world will change and everything will be different. He will be different and the war would have ended differently and _blink_, no, _blink_, maybe this time, _blink_, still the same.

"Become an Auror," says Hermione, her mouth turning down in a frown. She glances back at where Ron and the others are sitting, all laughing uproariously at some story Seamus in sharing, and leans in closer, brown eyes intent. "I know that you think everyone expects you to go down that path, but you don't have to. You can be anything you want to be, Harry; they don't control you or your future."

"I know they don't," says Harry stupidly, but does he? And really, what other future would he even consider? Fighting is what he's good at, fighting is all he's ever known. Fighting first with Dudley, then with Voldemort, fighting now just to pretend to be normal. "I know," he repeats. "I _want_ to be an Auror."

"Like your dad?" asks Hermione cryptically, mouth still in that little frown. "Because the war is over, Harry. He's dead."

Who's dead? His dad? Voldemort?

Himself?

"There will always be bad guys," Harry tells her. He focuses on counting the right amount of money but his hand shakes ever so slightly and he knows she sees it.

"There will also be other people to fight them," she says gently, reaching out to cover his hand with her own.

He turns helpless eyes to her and it's all about to spill out, the lonely nights, the empty hole in his chest, the ache that never goes away. The emptiness, the emptiness, the emptiness.

Instead, he says, "I want to; it's what I want."

And she nods, accepting this, and then they wait quietly for the rest of the drinks and when they come, Harry pays for them because he is the hero and that's what heroes do.

**three.**

"Where were you?" asks Ginny as he comes into the door and they stand there for a moment, both staring at each other. The flat they share has never been cleaner and he knows that she's pissed because that's what Ginny does when's she stressed or tired or angry; she cleans.

"Me and the blokes at work decided to go for some drinks after our shift," he tells her, and he adds in just the right half-smile, just the right kiss on her forehead, just the right sweep around her to make it believable. He kicks off his shoes and then heads for the kitchen, his socked feet making soft noises against the wood.

She follows. "Who all was there?"

"Oh… you know," says Harry absently, reaching up to get a glass and feeling his shirt lift up an inch or two. He jerks back down and then tries to make the movement more casual, heading to the sink. She doesn't make a comment, which means that she must not have noticed the bite marks on his hip. Fuck, he hopes not. He should have told Shane to keep his biting to himself but sometimes he likes the pain, sometimes it helps. Fucking idiot; he'll have to heal it later on. "Ron, Warren, Richards, Dawson…" He trails off, turning on the faucet and filling it up halfway and then downing it all in one go, his head spinning slightly.

There is silence behind him and he slowly turns, warily seeking out her gaze.

What he finds there is a deep sadness, a horrible sadness, a sadness that _knows._

Fuck.

"Ron came by here," she whispers. "Earlier. Wanted to know where you were at. Wanted to know if you wanted tickets to the next Cannons game with him."

They stare at each other for a long time and Harry does not know what to say. What can he possibly say? That he was fucking some bloke in a pub restroom? That the only time he really feels anything at all is when his cock is buried deep in a tight arse?

Her eyes water at his silence and she presses her lips together and then nods shortly, turning and walking out and the emptiness inside of him swells up and swallows him down.

**four.**

He tells himself it doesn't hurt when she leaves.

He tells himself it doesn't hurt when Ron flies into a rage at him at work and they almost duel and Hermione has to break them apart.

He tells himself it doesn't hurt when Hermione turns accusatory brown eyes at him, searching him out as if trying to recognise who he is.

He tells himself a lot of things.

**five.**

The first time he really notices Draco Malfoy is at a Muggle bar. He's sitting in the back, drowning himself in drink after drink, hazily scanning the crowd for someone that might fuck him when suddenly he's staring directly into grey eyes, grey eyes that accompany a hard smirk and loose blond hair and, holy fuck, tight black trousers.

He freezes, unsure of what to do or where to go and suddenly those grey eyes are moving towards him, suddenly Draco Malfoy is sliding through the crowd like a lithe panther straight towards Harry and then he's right there, right at Harry's booth, staring down at Harry with lust in his eyes.

"Let's get out of here," says Draco, leaning a hip against the table and letting his tongue flicker out to swipe over his thin lips. His waist is almost eye-level with Harry and Harry feels himself scanning his entire body, feels himself rising out of the booth without even directly ordering his limbs to move.

"I'm not interested," he forces himself to say, but he knows his eyes are burning into Malfoy's and all he wants to do is force him down on the table right here, right now, in front of everyone and fuck him harder than he's ever fucked and he swallows tightly, looking away.

And then back, just as Malfoy's arm sneaks out and his fingers loop in Harry's belt loop, tugging him forward and his mouth is at Harry's ear, his voice low and silky. "I've read all the papers, Potter," he murmurs, and then his hand slides down, gripping Harry's arse and pulling forward sharply so that their hips crash together.

Malfoy is hard already.

Harry is halfway there.

"Papers lie," gasps Harry, but Malfoy is slowly grinding into him and his cock is reacting, dammit.

"Sometimes they don't," murmur Malfoy, leaning in and sucking lightly on the spot just underneath Harry's ear. His breath is hot; his hips are tortuous. "Were they lying when they printed that picture of you coming out of a pub with your arm around that young twink?"

"Fuck you," growls Harry, and he knows Malfoy's won.

Malfoy knows it too.

And when they fuck, when Harry is pounding into Malfoy and Malfoy is moaning and his arse clenches around Harry's cock, when they both come, gasping and panting, that is the first time that something flickers in Harry's chest in a very long time.

He ignores it.

**six.**

Sometimes it doesn't feel like fucking, sometimes it feels like flying.

Sometimes it feels like falling. Falling in a deep pit, falling fast and furious and he's unable to catch himself and he knows that when he finally hits the ground, it's going to hurt, more than he can bear. He's going to crash one day, he knows, and nothing is ever going to be able to repair him after that. Falling, falling.

Mostly, though, it feels like relief.

Blinding relief from the emptiness that he's constantly on the verge of falling into; relief from being himself, from being the fuck-up that ruined his entire life. When he's with Malfoy, time blurs and becomes something different entirely - and, best of all, he's not quite as empty somehow. How can he be empty when he's connected in the most intimate way possible to someone so snarky and rude and inconsiderate and loud and picky and fussy and wonderful? How can he be empty when he's sucking Malfoy to the root, when Malfoy's fingers are in his hair and he's groaning to tell Harry _more faster harder_?

He tells himself it means nothing.

Just another fuck, he tells himself.

**seven.**

The ground is hard underneath his boots; the air is frigid; his breath comes out in sharp, white puffs.

"Draco," he says, and it comes out scared, frightened, small. He hasn't been frightened in so long, he's not quite sure what to do with it, so he just stands there, eyes wide and face pale. The moon mixes with the streetlamp and casts them both in a mixture of shadow and weak light, making Draco's eyes harder than they really are. "Draco - please."

"Please what?" snaps Draco, and he glowers at Harry, looking more like an Angel of Death than a normal man. "Please continue this - whatever _this_ is? Fuck, Harry, you're giving me _nothing_. You take everything I have to offer and you give nothing back and what the _hell _am I supposed to do with that?" He looks away, angry and troubled and shivers in the cold air.

"I -" begins Harry, but he has nothing to say because Draco is right.

"It started out fine," says Draco in a low voice, his body posture tense as he stares at the ground. "We both wanted the same thing. We were - it was good. But… but Harry, I want more than that, I want more than just a quick shag in a random hotel room," and he looks up, eyes glittering. "I thought you wanted it too, but - you just keep shoving me away. You want this," he says, taking a step forward. "I know you do."

And Harry does. God, Harry does. He wants everything to do with Draco Malfoy; he wants his messy problems and his dry comments and his fucking sneers. His eyes widen as Draco steps forward again and then they're kissing. Draco's tongue presses Harry's lips open and Harry gasps slightly, arching into Draco and holding onto him as their tongues slide together and Draco's taste fills his mouth.

"Harry," says Draco, pulling away slightly and resting his forehead against Harry's. One of his hands goes inside Harry's cloak, pressing right against Harry's chest and Harry's heart flutters faster in response and the emptiness seems to fight back, echoing throughout his body. "Tell me you want this. Tell me you'll at least try."

"I -" says Harry again, and he strains, fighting to say that he does, that he always will, but the words aren't coming and Draco pulls away further, staring at him with betrayal shining in his eyes.

"Harry," says Draco, and his name has never sounded more desperate than it does right now.

And Harry cannot say anything and Draco presses his lips together in a hard line, staring at him for a long moment and just then something drifts down, floating and flying and small and white and lands right on the tip of Draco's nose.

The first snowflake of the year.

They both look up at the dark sky as more and more snowflakes drift down, swirling over them and melting as soon as they touch anything solid: the ground, Harry's cloak, Draco's hair. Harry has an irrational urge to stick out his tongue and catch one on his tongue but this is not a movie and Draco is back to staring at him and Harry still hasn't answered.

"I love you," says Draco.

But he still can't say anything and as Draco turns and walks away, shoulders hunched, Harry can't help but laugh because it turns out that silence is the biggest lie he's ever told and he leans back and lets the snowflakes fall all around him and laughs and laughs and feels the emptiness swallow him once and for all.

* * *

**a/n:** ugh, I have cramps, so Harry has a horrible life. yay. I'm sort of addicted to these sort of character sketches after reading a thousand of them by cupid-painted-blind (some of them are in my favourites, so everyone should head over there and read them!). It occurred to me today that I've been writing my Harry as though the war didn't affect him at all, so I went in the complete opposite direction and _ruined_ him because of the war (which was actually a lot of fun, heh). Leave a review!

-Christine


	19. Formal

**Formal**

Harry stared at the envelope held out to him, blinking blankly at it for a moment before lifting his gaze to take in the impatient purse of lips, the narrowed gray eyes that looked so much like barren caves, the hair that looked as though it had recently been caught in a windstorm. "Er," he began and blinked again. "What is it?"

"Take it," said Malfoy, shaking the envelope at him impatiently. "It's not going to blow up in your face, so you can stop looking so paranoid." And then when Harry continued to merely stand there: "Dammit, Potter, why do you have to make everything so sodding _difficult_?" and he snatched Harry's arm up, shoving the envelope into his hand and then relinquishing his grip, his arms moving to cross against his chest. Malfoy glowered.

Harry frowned, wondering if he should make a comment about personal space, and then decided against it and turned the envelope over to the back, staring at it for a moment before opening it. Or, well, trying to anyway. He made a disgruntled noise as time passed and then Malfoy sighed loudly and pointed his wand at it and it sliced cleanly open. Harry clearly heard him mutter something about, "have to do _everything_ around here," and then he was reading the letter inside and lifting his eyebrows higher and higher before he looked up once more.

"I don't," he started and then frowned again, more to himself than at Malfoy. "Why did you write me a letter if you're just going to continue to just stand there right in front of me?"

"Merlin, Potter, do you have no sense of class at all?" said Malfoy loudly, sounding exasperated. "I'm giving you a formal apology, all right, do you need to me to fucking spell it out for you? That's your proof right there in writing that I'm _formally apologizing_ for everything that's happened between us."

"Oh," said Harry after a moment. He looked back down at the letter and quickly reread:

_Potter,_

_Don't make this any more fucking harder than it has to be. We were both shit during the war, myself perhaps a bit more than you, and I think it's time we both take the mature route and let things progress as if you hadn't rejected my handshake at age eleven (like an utter prick). You'll go your way and I'll go mine and we can both nod at each other down the road when our children are going off to Hogwarts for the first time and that will be the full extent of our acknowledgement of each other, all right? We will be gloriously blasé towards each other and I can rest easy at night knowing that your mates won't go on a mission in the middle of the night to murder me in your precious name. _

_Not that they'd get very far as, you know might know, we have deadly peacocks._

_So a nod down the road and that's all, yeah? Oh, well, and I suppose you can send me Christmas cards of your precious family each year if it'll make you feel better. Goddamn Gryffindor. _

_Cheers,_

_D.M_

"It's just," he said and then furrowed his eyebrows together and once more met the cool eyes of his former nemesis who was currently looking as if he didn't know if Harry could actually read or not. "Usually when people are apologizing, they don't call the people they're apologizing to a 'prick'. And my mates would never sneak off to kill you in the middle of the night, because that's just ridiculous."

"You're right," said Malfoy loftily. "Gryffindors are much more likely to do it in the middle of the day, when the victim is innocently washing his hands at the bathroom sink."

Harry felt his ears go pink. "First of all, you were _crying_, not washing your hands –"

"Slander!" shouted Malfoy.

"- and secondly, Gryffindors wouldn't do it _all_ because, and this will come as a shock to you, I'm sure, but we really don't care what you do any more, Malfoy."

Malfoy stared at him with a shocked look. "When you say _we_," he began.

"I mean everyone," Harry clarified. "Myself included."

There was a pause and then, "When you say _don't care what you do_ –"

"I mean we're not going to seek revenge," said Harry, entirely frustrated now. "I don't need your apology because I don't _care_, Malfoy. You can keep it to yourself if you want, it won't bother me. Here," And he held the envelope back out, stretching across the empty space between them.

Malfoy's eyes were gray flames. "You can't – you can't just _decide_ – you're a Gryffindor! Why can't you just fucking accept it like a normal person?" And he took a step back, chin lifted out defiantly.

"Because _normally_, apologies aren't dealt out like some sort of gift from the gods," said Harry through gritted teeth, following Malfoy with the letter still outstretched. "Please just take it."

"No_, you_ take it! Fucking forgive me, Potter!"

"No, say it properly!"

"I already did!"

"Well, I don't accept it," and now they were both shouting at each other, grappling furiously as Harry tried to find a pocket to shove the letter in and Malfoy swatted him away continuously, turning redder and redder with each passing moment until:

"FINE, I'M FUCKING SORRY, OKAY?"

They both stood there, breathing heavily and then Harry muttered, "What's even the point?"

"Of what?" Malfoy sneered out, looking flushed and unkempt and Harry wondered if maybe the trials and his father's arrest had done more than everyone had originally thought.

"Of this? Why apologize if all you want is a sodding nod fifteen years down the road? What's the point?"

"I –" and Malfoy looked away, shifting in the spot miserably.

"Look," said Harry and he forgot he was still holding onto the letter, awkwardly trying to shove his hands in his pockets before he remembered it was there. Half of it stuck out, wrinkled and pale and so problematic. "Don't apologize if you don't want at least to… you know, be mates. Or whatever."

Now Malfoy looked at him, entirely stunned. "You'd want to be mates?" he asked slowly, sounding as though he couldn't believe his own ears. "With me?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know, but if you're going to go to all the fucking trouble of writing a letter and shouting an apology, you should at least make it worth it, yeah?"

They stared at each other, Harry's expression carefully kept as neutral as Malfoy's was guarded, and then – "I'm sorry," said Malfoy quietly. "For all the shit I did during the war, okay? I never… thanked you. For what you did for my mother and me. And I thought maybe I'd feel better if I apologized, that I wouldn't feel like I owe you so much but…" He sighed and raked a hand over his mussed hair. Harry had never seen it so messy, and he liked it.

"You don't owe me anything," said Harry abruptly, and he jerked his hand out of his pants pocket, uncomfortably thrusting it across the empty space between them. "I forgive you."

Malfoy cautiously looked at him and then slowly reached out his hand, taking Harry's and for a moment they stood there like that, Malfoy's grip firm and warm around his.

Then Malfoy pulled back and Harry once more put his hand in his pocket and they both looked away.

"I'm glad your friends aren't going to try and kill me," Malfoy admitted. "I wouldn't want them to get maimed by my peacocks, especially since Granger is finally looking like she might care about her appearance."

Harry stared at him and then the corner of his mouth twitched up in half a smile and then he was laughing, laughing even harder at the startled look Malfoy gave him. "I'll pass along the compliment," he assured him and then there was another unsettled moment and Malfoy nodded to himself, giving Harry a faint, confused little smile before he turned.

"I'm going to… er, go," he said. "You can keep that," he nodded at the letter.

"Oh, I will," Harry said, snorting. "As_ formal_ proof of what a dick you can be."

Malfoy paused at the edge of the room, turning back to give Harry a grimace. "You're going to show that to people, aren't you?"

"Everyone," Harry said wholeheartedly.

Draco sighed, but when he turned once again to leave, Harry distinctly saw a smile. So maybe Draco wasn't such a dick after all. He took the letter out of his pocket, smoothed it out, and stared down at it with a funny little smile on his face.

Yes, he would keep this formal apology for some time to come. It seemed… significant somehow. A new era. He chuckled to himself and tucked the letter into his pocket once more, wondering just how it would turn out.

* * *

**a/n:** so I'm going to blatantly ignore how long it's been and instead wish everyone a happy Christmas! does anyone have any idea where this oneshot takes place? because the entire time I was writing it, I literally had _no_ clue. Maybe eighth year? A Ministry gathering? Harry's house? I don't even know. But whatever. Minor details. Reviews are me updating a thirty day challenge _months_ after I started!

- Christine


	20. Accusation

**Accusation**

"You wanna know what I think?" slurred a high class poncey git voice from Harry's elbow.

Harry sighed into his drink and slowly set it down, staring straight ahead before giving into temptation and turning to look at the man lounging carelessly on the bar stool next to him. He had no earthly idea how _anyone_ – much less a too-thin, completely sloshed prick like Draco Malfoy – made a barstool look like a throne, but there Malfoy was, lounging away. It made Harry want to shove him to the ground, but instead he merely lifted his eyebrows in a questioning manner before saying in a purposely bored voice, "Not particularly."

"Well," said Malfoy, and he'd obviously not expected this but he sprawled against the counter anyway, getting comfortable and leaning in too close to Harry. "Well – lis'sen, okay?"

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Are you – listening?"

"Yes."

"Good," and now Malfoy seemed to gather himself up for something, somehow managing to pull himself upright and remain leaning against the counter all at the same time, his hand holding up his face and pushing back some of his hair. "I," he announced, "am so utterly fucking _drunk_. You hear that, Potter?" He started to laugh. "Room's spinning!"

"Malfoy," sighed Harry wearily. "Yes, I can see that. Maybe it's time you go home – I'll be there later. I suppose." He turned back to his drink, staring down into its amber depths and wondering if it was possible to drown himself in such a small amount of liquid. He would have to order more – but that was okay, he was Harry Potter. What was the point of being head of his department if he couldn't even fucking drown himself in firewhiskey? It was the little things in life, after all.

He turned slightly when he realized there had been nothing from Malfoy for more than thirty seconds and found himself face-to-face with wide gray eyes and a pouting mouth. Malfoy squinted and then gasped. "You're _mad_ at me!" he accused.

"What – no," protested Harry.

"You are! Fucking hell, I can't believe this!" said Malfoy and he laughed and if Harry didn't know he was drunk, he really would have pushed him off his stool as that infuriating peal of laughter rang out. As it was, accidentally bashing in his roommate's head did not sound too appetizing. Neither did the paperwork. "I thought – I mean, really, but what – _why_?"

"I'm not mad," Harry mumbled, because wasn't there a rule about always protesting more than one time or some shit? He sighed as Malfoy just stared at him. "You were supposed to be here forty-five minutes ago," he finally said. "You're late. And you're sodding drunk. What, I ask, is the point of showing up late drunk to have _drinks_ with someone?"

"Well now," Malfoy said. "You're drinking too, aren't you?"

"Because I waited thirty minutes for you!" said Harry in disbelief and, shaking his head, he got up and threw some money on the counter, turning to go.

Malfoy stumbled after him. "Wait – we can drink now! Potter!"

Harry paused a few feet away to turn and give him another flat look. "You're off your nut if you think I'm drinking with you like this, Malfoy."

"But – well, can you at least Apparate me home?" asked Malfoy, and he stared at Harry with the sort of pathetic drunk stare he always equipped himself with whenever drinks were had, and really, what was Harry supposed to do with that face staring at him?

"If you puke on me," he said in a warning voice.

"Uh," said Malfoy, wobbling dangerously.

Harry glared. "I'm not cleaning it up. I'm not leading you to the toilet either."

"You won't have to," said Malfoy, but he didn't look too sure of himself. He stumbled forward, reaching pleading hands out to grapple at Harry's arm. "Please, Potter? Please – _hic!_ How - how else 'm I s'pose to get home?"

"Maybe _Hermione _can take you home," said Harry in a dangerous voice.

"Wha's that supposed to mean?"

"You know what," said Harry, and then without warning, he grabbed Draco's arm and jerked him close, Apparating them both directly into the bathroom at their flat in downtown London. There was a moment where Malfoy seemed to whirl around and then he collapsed to his knees in front of the toilet and vomited noisily, hands clutching the porcelain.

"You're pathetic," said Harry, but he sighed and didn't leave the room, instead sitting down on the edge of the bathtub and making a face as Draco rested the side of his face on the toilet seat. "Oh – oh, come on, Malfoy, have some decency." He conjured a handerkerchief and held it out to the blond man, waiting for him to take it before summoning a cup from the kitchen and filling it with water. He held that to Malfoy too, who once again accepted it before slumping against the sink, his back against the cabinet. "It's what you deserve," said Harry after a moment.

"Please don't," said Malfoy in a hoarse voice, lifting bleary eyes to stare at Harry.

"If you don't drink that, you're going to have a raging headache tomorrow," said Harry after another moment. His shoulders slumped slightly, his hands dangling between his knees, and Merlin he wished he was as drunk as Malfoy.

"Hangover potion," said Malfoy.

"We ran out two days ago."

"Bugger," he said, and took a drink.

"I don't –" said Harry at the same time that Malfoy said, "Why did –"

They both stopped.

"You go first," said Harry, looking away.

Malfoy took another sip. "Why did you say Hermione could take me home? What did that mean?"

Dammit. He'd been hoping Malfoy had been too drunk to hear that. "I just… She would have gladly helped you. That's all."

"But –"

"I'm not_ jealous_, if that's what you're thinking," said Harry loudly, too loudly – too quickly, and he flushed dully and looked away again, hating Malfoy with his rumpled hair and his lateness and how he'd crumpled to the ground so easily, like he was fragile. He'd never thought Malfoy was fragile when they were at school together – sneaky, yes, cunning – wicked and evil and manipulative, but fucking _fragile_? Never. Not that's all he saw when he looked at Malfoy – the pointy chin and the bony elbows and the ribs sticking out and the eyes that flared up when he grew defensive and all Malfoy had been trying to do all these fucking years was protect himself – and when had that become so damn easy to see?

"She's just my friend, Potter," said Malfoy, looking confused and still very, very drunk. "I don't know – we're just friends."

"But you were drinking with her," said Harry flatly, green eyes narrowed as he examined Malfoy thoroughly. It wasn't a question – it was an accusation.

And it was obviously true, by the way Malfoy scrunched up his nose and tried to think up a lie. "I just," he said and then frowned. "I just went to her house for some advice. And I asked for a drink to calm my nerves –"

"When you were coming for a _drink with me_?" asked Harry through gritted teeth.

"I was nervous!" shouted Malfoy all of a sudden and they both sat there in their small bathroom, both of them caught offguard by this outburst. "I know we fucking get drinks all the time, Potter, but Merlin, it never seems to _mean _anything to you, and maybe I wanted to ask Granger what I should do about that because she's sodding good at that thing and maybe I just _drank a little too much._ Merlin, Potter, you just can never stop fucking_ pushing_, can you?" He turned, getting onto his hands and knees, and crawled a foot or two before grabbing the door handle and wobbling a bit as he hauled himself up. "Good fucking _night_," he said bitterly and then hobbled out of the room, this exit completely ruin by the giant hiccup leaving him just at that moment.

Harry stared blankly after him for a moment. And then jerked to his feet, running out of the bathroom and just barely catching Malfoy as he turned into his bedroom – "Wait – wait! Malfoy – want… a cup of tea?" he asked.

Malfoy stared at him. "I'm tired," he finally said.

"Tomorrow's Saturday. We don't have to work."

"You're going to make me clean up the dishes afterward."

"I won't. I'll do them."

"Or you could just let us get a house elf."

"Hermione would hate that."

"God damn Hermione," Malfoy said, but he didn't sound too mad any more. "You make shit tea," he said after a moment.

"I'll make mint tea," said Harry earnestly. "You love mint tea."

"You know what tea I like?" demanded Malfoy. "Stalker."

"Malfoy, we live together."

"I don't know why."

"Probably has something to do with the time you came up to me in Auror training and demanded we live together because we both needed a roommate and you refused to live with Seamus because you declared him sketchy."

"He _is _sketchy."

"So," said Harry simply. "Tea?"

Malfoy stared at him for a long moment before shrugging. "Yeah, all right." He started to follow Harry before pausing. "And those little biscuits?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah, all right. And then maybe we can go get real drinks tomorrow, when you're not already piss drunk."

"Good idea. Maybe Hermione can come."

"Maybe Hermione can come the next time," suggested Harry. "My best friend usually doesn't accompany me on dates."

Malfoy paused and then broke out into a wide smile. "Please go make us some tea, Potter. I feel like I'm about to faint."

"Please don't throw up again."

"No promises."

* * *

**a/n:** what cutie pies. reviews are finding out you got into the college you wanted! huzzah!


	21. Silver

**Silver**

Draco isn't even really that attractive, when it comes right down to it.

There are much more attractive people in the universe, Harry decides, eyes narrowed as he surveys the entire Great Hall from his normal seat at the eighth year table, his chin on his fist and his mouth a frustrated wrinkle. So many more attractive people than Malfoy.

There's Blaise, for one, who dresses impeccably with pristine robes and a different watch for every day of the week and his sparkling white teeth that shine when he laughs. He laughs quite a bit, which only serves to make him more attractive in Harry's eyes, and when he mocks Harry – which he also seems to enjoy doing quite a lot – it doesn't bother Harry like it would have for anyone else. Rather, it is just something that Blaise _does, _as Harry's come to learn and accept and snicker at. He mocks Ron for liking the Cannons, he mocks Hermione for liking House Elves, he mocks Ginny for being tomboyish and Malfoy for being girly and Seamus for being too loud and Pansy for being too snide. It should be something that causes strife or a general disliking for the Slytherin but he does it all with that great big laugh and that gleam in his eyes and Harry can't help but like him. He's really quite handsome – intimidatingly so, with his smooth skin and how he waves his hands when he talks.

But when Harry needs a Potions partner, he doesn't go to Blaise – who's really surprisingly good, even if he doesn't like to apply himself – no, he goes to Malfoy. Malfoy, who's frighteningly pale and his mocking often comes out mean and his laugh sometimes too nervous, too brittle, like it's about to break at any second. It's nothing compared to Blaise's laugh, which is loud and hearty and makes everyone join in with him.

Malfoy isn't really that attractive at all, especially compared to Blaise.

Or Ginny, for that reason.

She whacked all her hair off the summer after the Final Battle – and though she likes to say it's because she was just so ready for a change, Harry sometimes wonders if maybe it's her subtle way of mourning all those who died. Fred knew her with long hair – so did Tonks, Lupin, Moody. But now the long hair is gone, and so is that Ginny. She is done hiding, done waiting around, and this new Ginny is utterly beautiful in Harry's eyes. He loves her short hair, love how she tosses her head sometimes like she's still expecting the long mane and instead comes up short. Loves how her chin is so delicate now, without the red locks framing it, and her eyes so much larger. She is harder now and rougher and says things to him that no one else dares to say, despite the fact that they no longer date, and that is a wonderful thing, only serving to make her more glorious.

But when he wants to play one-on-one Quidditch, he doesn't go to Ginny, despite how much he knows she loves to play it at all times of the day. Instead, when he feels restless and caged up and anxious, he pulls out the Marauders' Map and hunts and hunts until he finds the dot labeled 'Draco Malfoy' – and then he tramps off to wherever the blond git is at that precise moment, appearing in front of him and only saying, "Fancy a game?" and then they're both off, racing to the pitch and racing to their brooms and racing to beat the hell out of each other. Ginny is so beautiful when she flies – she is graceful and lithe and darting like a sleek little bird. She laughs and calls playful taunts and it doesn't matter who wins in their games; it is all about the match itself.

For Malfoy, however, it is the complete opposite. It is _only _about winning and his taunts are sharp and meant to distract and he is sneaky and often he accuses of Harry of cheating and sometimes they forget to fly because they're so busy arguing instead. He flies aggressively and sharply, all cutting corners and trying to knock Harry off his broom and Harry doesn't find him the least bit attractive when they play Quidditch which is maybe why he likes it so much because sometimes he needs it for the distraction and not because it's fun. Ginny is like a fluttering fairy; Malfoy is like a grumpy hedgehog, too prickly and slow to change.

Malfoy is not at all attractive like Theo either, who is witty and bored all of the time with his brooding stares and sneers. His sneers are rather like a model's, perfectly timed and situated for the circumstances; appropriate, really, when paired with his dark hair and hooded eyes. When Malfoy sneers it's because he's defensive and hurt and it really makes him look quite ugly, Harry thinks. When Malfoy tries to be brooding, he looks sullen and like he's really trying too hard and it's just plain pitiful. Malfoy is nothing like Theo's good looks at all.

Hermione, of course, is beautiful with her love of knowledge and her passion and how utterly willing she is for everyone to see things her way, to make people _understand._ Malfoy doesn't speak of knowledge at all the way she does, Harry observes, as the three of them sit in the library to study Transfiguration and as Hermione reverently describes her favourite book (all sixteen of them) and as Malfoy cuts each one down with ruthless comments. That one was written by an ill-educated man and this one does not emphasize the proper things and they're all biased in his opinion, which is ironic, considering Malfoy is the most bias person Harry has ever met. He is only passionate about things Harry doesn't understand and when he tries to get people to understand his point of view, it always comes out like an argument. Harry likes to argue with Malfoy, but he certainly isn't _beautiful_ during their debates, not like Hermione is. Hermione comes alive in her debates – Malfoy looks like he's sitting on something uncomfortable.

Even Pansy is better-looking than Malfoy, and Harry doesn't even _like _Pansy. Doesn't like her, no, but he can appreciate the hard line of her jaw, the thick dark brows and slanting short haircut that frames her face. She is all brutal angles and so is Malfoy, so what makes her attractive and Malfoy not?

Now Malfoy drops down into the seat across from Harry and reaches out for his normal toast and raspberry jam and Harry studies him for what feels like the thousandth time, trying to figure out _what it is _about him. He's too pale and too skinny and there always seem to be violent purple circles under his eyes. His hair, now that he doesn't use gel, can never seem to decide what direction it wants to go in and instead settles for flopping in Malfoy's eyes, which is entirely frustrating to Harry for some unknown reason. There's that fucking ugly mark on Malfoy's wrist – his nose was too pointy – his chin looked weak in some angles – so what _fucking is it? _If he isn't attractive – and he isn't, Harry knows, he really fucking isn't – then why can Harry never seem to take his damn eyes off him?

Malfoy glances up absently as he takes a bit of his toast and then he swallows it down hastily and narrows his eyes at Harry. "What are you staring at?" he demands.

"You're not even fucking _nice_," complains Harry, despite the fact that he knows Malfoy has no idea about the internal debate raging inside of the Gryffindor. Everything about Malfoy is prickly and rude and coarse so why does Harry find himself craving time with the insane ponce? Why does he find himself gravitating towards him and searching him out in a crowd and catching his gaze when something ridiculous happens in their now intermingled group of friends? It is more frustrating than anything Harry has ever experienced, trying to figure this bloody mystery out.

"I know that," says Malfoy testily and they stare at each other for a moment before,

"You've got jam," says Harry. "On your chin. Just there."

Malfoy reaches up and curiously slides his finger down his chin, searching until the digit comes in contact with the dark splotch – and he swipes it up and then sticks his finger in his mouth, eyes locking on Harry as he sucks on his finger long and hard and then pulls it out of his mouth with a slight _pop_. "Thank you."

Harry cannot breathe. He literally cannot breathe and the air seems stuck in his chest and his eyes glued to Malfoy's lips and finally he lifts his gaze up and meets glittering silver eyes. The only thing he likes about Malfoy. Those fucking eyes that always seem to know when he's looking for sympathy (rarely) or sarcasm (often) or approval (always). Blaise's are a hollow black, Ginny's are a bland brown, Theo's are an unsupportive green, Hermione's are a flitting hazel, Pansy's are a blazing blue – but Malfoy's. Malfoy's are the silver the moon casts on the lake at midnight, the edge of a knife glinting in low lamplight. They are a hard pavement and storm clouds gathering on the horizon. They are mocking and hard and fucking the first thing he thinks of when he wakes up and _why?_

"You're not even good-looking," he tells Malfoy impulsively because they're the only two at the eighth year table and the image of Malfoy sucking on his finger in that manner is going to stick with him the rest of the day. "You're not."

Malfoy arches an eyebrow. "Neither are you."

"_Good_," says Harry angrily. "I don't have to rely on my looks to get anywhere in life!"

"No, you have your fame for that, don't you?" and Malfoy yawns.

Harry glares and then mutters angrily, "Did you do the Charms homework last night?"

"Of course. Did _you_?"

There's a pause and then Malfoy snorts and maybe that has something to do with it. Malfoy doesn't fawn over him, Malfoy doesn't seem to _care _that he's famous, despite the many remarks he makes on the subject. He doesn't seem to recall the fact that Harry killed Voldemort or saved him from the FiendFyre or again from Azkaban. None of that seems to matter to Malfoy which begets the question _why_ does Malfoy talk to Harry every day? Why does he smirk at him and willingly work with him and why did he approach him that first day of eighth year and demand to know if Harry was going to continue to be a ponce?

So Malfoy's not attractive and Harry's not really worth the fame which maybe brings to light the idea that they are drawn to each other for something else, for something better, for something different and whole and wonderful and warm.

Those silver eyes flicker in Harry's direction and he suppresses the urge to stare, instead looking down at his own plate of food.

Fuck.

Out of all the fucking attractive people in Hogwarts.

Those fucking silver eyes, Harry thinks, and stabs his pancakes particularly viciously. Going to burn him up and swallow him whole and maybe he's okay with that. Yeah, maybe that's really quite okay. Fucking Malfoy.

Because Harry might be a Gryffindor, but even he can't argue that green and silver go _really _good together.

* * *

**a/n:** so obviously Harry and I both think Draco is a raging sex bomb on legs but for this piece I just really liked the idea that maybe Draco can be kind of a pointy git and maybe he's not even that good-looking and Harry still loves him. It feels deeper to me that way, because Harry didn't fall in love with him because of lust but because Draco is what he needs. Anyway, I quite enjoyed writing this one, despite the fact that there is literally no action in this, but whatever. Reviews are licking raspberry jam off Draco's chin!

- Christine


	22. Knowledge

**Knowledge **

(Aftershocks)

There are some nights in which dreaming is more like drowning and Draco always wakes up with a gasp locked in his throat, his limbs covered in a thin layer of sweat and his heart pounding in every part of his body. For a moment he is nothing but a heartbeat - nothing but a muscle straining to remain alive, pulsing harder in the fight for survival - and then he turns and rolls over to Harry, burying his face in the crook of Harry's neck.

He never speaks of this weakness in daylight - never once addresses how his voice is raspy with the echo of screams and how hard he trembles against Harry's side in the heart-wrenching moments following the push into reality. It is as forbidden in the daylight as his Dark Mark is, as shameful to him as his love for Muggle music, but this is not daylight and deep is the darkness surrounding his fears.

Somehow, immediately, always, Harry wakes up when Draco does and the first thing out of his mouth is a sleepy, "I love you." It's almost as if it's simply a continuation of whatever his dream was and if Draco didn't need those three words so goddamn much he would find it within himself to be envious of Harry's good dreams.

But he does need those words, so he simply latches onto Harry and holds him, clings to him. Struggles not to speak, knowing his voice will break if he tries.

Pale legs tangle against tan ones, cold feet brushing against warm ones as Draco's arms come up around Harry's head, one hand tangling in black hair as Draco presses his lips against Harry's neck and quakes.

"What was it this time?" Harry whispers sleepily, shifting slightly so that Draco has better access to his frame. "In the Manor?"

"Hogwarts," Draco replies, and memories bleed behind his eyelids for a moment, causing him to sob out against Harry. It is a weakness he would never show to anyone else, at any other time, but here and now in the bed they've shared for so long, it is a relief to finally let it show.

The darkness is less fearful with Harry's nose nuzzling his hair. "The battle?"

"Before," Draco whispers.

"Shit, Draco," and a warm arm wraps around his waist, pulling him ever closer, and there is something in Draco that shrivels up because Harry just _knows_.

"Don't leave," he whispers.

"I won't."

"Please."

"I promise."

"I don't deserve it."

Harry slowly pushes him over, a comforting movement because Draco knows what it will lead to next. They are a well-oiled machine, they are two parts of a whole, they are a bird in flight and a deer running through the forest. Harry moves him until Draco is the one on his back and Harry is nearly lying on top of him, his weight needed to hold Draco together.

"You," breathes Harry in the dark, on all sides of Draco, arms on either side of his face and mouth hovering somewhere near Draco's right ear, "are worthy of all things wonderful, Draco Malfoy."

When they kiss, it is nothing more than the slow slide of lips against lips. If there is passion, it is a slow, smoldering passion, like the warm embers of a tired fire. It is not rushed or fierce or breakable - rather, it is a kiss of comfort, of lips slowly dragging against each other, of two sets of breath mingling together in a way that said _you are not alone_. Harry's fingers knotted in Draco's hair, stroking the sensitive skin underneath as his lips latched on Draco's bottom lip and slowly, tenderly sucked on it. Draco arches up in a whimper, his hands clenching the loose Quidditch shirt Harry had worn to bed, and wonders if this is what love tastes like.

They break away and Harry rests his head on the pillow next to Draco's head, making a soft little noise as he relaxes into Draco. "I've got you," he murmurs.

"They were making me torture people. Carrows. Fucking _Carrows. _At first it was just random faces - young ones, though, second years, maybe - and then suddenly it was _everyone_, it was Granger and Weasley and Blaise and Longbottom - Lovegood and y-you -"

"I've got you," hands in his hair, soothing him, gentle kisses pressed hotly against his neck.

"_Fuck_, but you were screaming - I - I -" Draco's gasping now, gulping for air but he can't breathe, can't breathe, can't think, doesn't deserve the beautiful man still pressing down on him.

"Draco - _Draco_ -" and Harry shifts again, sliding more firmly on top of Draco and then pushing himself up so that he's straddling Draco. The blond's hands automatically move to clutch at Harry's hips, steadying him, while Harry's thighs clench around his sides. There is nothing sexual about the position at this point - merely Harry doing his best to allow Draco his air and the firm pressure of _hereness _that Draco craves so much. "Draco," he says again. "Do what I told you to do."

"I - I - I c-can't," chokes out Draco, fingers digging bruises into the sand of Harry's skin.

"Shhh, Draco, try."

Draco gulps for another few seconds and then, shakily, spitting it out as though it burns, "O-one. We met at lift at w-work, even though we work on two d-different floors."

"Go on," says Harry softly.

"T-two. We went out for drinks at the Dragon's Breath two weeks later."

"Yes," he encourages.

"Three. The Tornadoes Quidditch match. Four. The international potions case."

He can faintly see the outline of Harry's smile in the dark.

"F-five. The kiss in your office. Oh, Merlin, Harry, I should have stayed in Azkaban with my father, you should have heard the screams - I think I could hear him scream every night, _my name_ -" Draco's breath hitches as warm fingers push under his shirt, skating up his sides. He closes his eyes and lays there for a moment underneath Harry, struggling to compose himself. Fingers press into his sides, counting his ribs, counting out _one, two, three, four, five, _"S-six. When you punched that photographer outside of Flourish and Blotts."

"He deserved it," murmurs Harry. "Git."

"Seven. The first Weasley family dinner."

"I told you it wasn't going to be nearly as scary as you thought it would be."

"Eight, when you asked me to move in. Harry..."

Harry shifts a little on top of him and for a moment Draco loses his train of thought. Is that what Harry dreams about? Does he dream about the soft kisses and the frantic removal of clothing that happened after Draco'd said yes? About packing boxes together and arguing where items went when they unpacked, about the first time they'd eaten together in the flat, sitting cross-legged in front of the fire with bowls of vanilla ice cream? Draco aches.

"Nine," continues Harry.

"Nine - when I found the ring in the dresser, you shitty hider," and now the darkness is no longer darkness but rather a soft blanket and the covers feel warm and Harry's weight is comforting and heavy and so are Draco's eyelids, the nightmare fading away... "Ten."

"Ten. I love you," finishes Harry, and he lays back down next to Draco, scooting close and sliding back into Draco's embrace.

"Ten, you love me."

A small kiss presses against the skin under Draco's ear.

"I love you," whispers Harry. "I've got you."

It is this knowledge that sends Draco back to sleep. The knowledge that Harry will be there when he wakes up, will love him as he opens his eyes, will forgive him the next time he fucks up and the time after that. Will hold him the next time his memories invade his sleep.

Sometimes dreaming is like drowning; sometimes it's like flying.

* * *

**a/n: **Thirty day challenge? Nah... This is totally a... year challenge. Obviously. But I wanted some hurt/comfort and drarry seemed the best shot and gosh, I actually really like this, so please review if you liked it to! Hope your May is going well. (Eleven more days till I graduate!)

- C.


	23. Promise

**Promise**

"Harry - Harry, _please_."

"Nope."

"Please, Harry, I'm _begging you_."

"It's not going to happen."

"I'll do - anything you want! I'll - cook all next week." Nothing. "Clean all the bathrooms?" No response. "I'll fucking give you a blowjob!"

"_Don't_," said Harry sharply, finally acknowledging his husband who looked up hopefully, "try and seduce me while holding our baby. That is so not happening, Malfoy."

"Shit," muttered Draco, glaring down at the tiny figure in his arms balefully.

"Don't curse around her either." The Daily Prophet ruffled helpfully as Harry ducked behind it again and a second later there was the sound of him lazily drinking his coffee.

Two long minutes passed where Draco held it in, where he did everything he possibly could to keep his mouth shut as Lily Luna Malfoy-Potter shifted restlessly in his arms, tiny whining noises escaping her lips as she blinked up at him. He honestly did try - because, deep down, he knew that Harry was tired, just as tired as he was, and he knew that Harry did more for their daughter than seemed humanly possible at times - but a wizard could only take so much and Draco was fucking _exhausted._

He gave in.

"But she _smells_," he complained, slowly pacing around the small kitchen and wrinkling his nose as he stared down at the whimpering girl. "Harry, I think her diaper needs changing. And -"

"And I clearly remember a certain someone promising to change every diaper for a month if I bottomed for him," said Harry calmly from behind his newspaper and Draco glared.

"I was in -" he glanced down at Lily, sighed angrily, and then whispered loudly, "I was in the _throes of passion_, I didn't expect you to actually hold me to it!"

"A Gryffindor always keeps his promises."

"Don't you dare get Sorted into Gryffindor," Draco told the baby in his arms. "They're the trickiest of the whole bunch and then they like to pretend that they're all noble and brave for it."

"If you're quite done corrupting our daughter," and there was the sharp whisper of newspaper and Draco looked up wildly, holding out Lily - and then frowning deeply as Harry got to his feet, yawned, picked up his coffee and began shuffling out of the room.

"And just where do you think you're going?" demanded Draco, moving after him.

"Shower."

"What about her diaper?"

"You fix it."

Draco paused at the edge of the kitchen, watching as the tail end of Harry's flannel robe disappeared around the corner. "SHE'S YOUR DAUGHTER TOO!" he shouted after the stupid fucking Gryffindor.

He paused.

Looked down, horrified, into the baby's face.

Counted to three silently.

Waited.

She stared back up at him with a screwed up expression, her tiny hands balling into fists as she wriggled against his arms - and then she let out a wail, her entire body seeming to seize up with the power of her cry.

"Damn it," he said.

They'd been parents for all of 42 days now and it was still scary as all hell - moreso, really, because he kept waiting for the shoe to drop and it _never fucking did_. So many things could go wrong - so why hadn't they? He just knew that as soon as he felt comfortable, as soon as he and Harry actually began to get the hang of this _dad _thing, something bloody awful would happen and it would be all his fault. He'd wake up one day to find out that Lily Luna was gone, kidnapped. He'd be holding her one day and just drop her. He'd suddenly go mute and she'd never learn how to speak English ever. The possibilities were endless.

In the meantime, it was just this, constantly. This worry of - _am I hurting her? Is she hungry? Does her diaper need to be changed? How much sleep is too much sleep? Why does Harry always seem so fucking _calm _about everything?_

Because, above all else, that confused Draco the most. The endless sea of calm that was Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the Chosen One, the Father of the fucking Year. And while Draco spent every shower anxiously trying to hear Lily over the stream of water, he was nearly positive that Harry was wanking one out at this very moment.

Prick.

"Please stop crying," he whispered, gently rocking Lily back and forth - except this only seemed to make her cry louder and he closed his eyes tightly, struggling to hold it together. "Please, Lily."

She always stopped crying for Harry, didn't she? What the hell was he doing that Draco wasn't?

He peeked an eye open - to no avail, her face was only growing redder by the second. He wondered if the people in the flat next door was able to hear her wailing. Damn it. "I'll... buy you a pony if you stop."

Her cries were now approaching breaking-the-sound-barrier volume.

Yep. Definitely a Gryffindor.

"I - fuck, I mean - _Merlin_, how the hell is someone supposed to talk with a baby in their arms?" he said under his breath, and now he was getting desperate because he could feel her getting wet through her diaper and she was still screaming and - he looked around wildly and then ran into the living room and almost tripping as he went (and wouldn't that have been a disaster?) before gently placing her down on the couch and running over to where Harry kept all his bloody electronics. He stared at it all bewilderedly for a moment before he stabbed a button and winced as some odd modern American artist began blaring out. He growled and stabbed another button - and then stared at the machine with wide eyes as it whirred loudly and _Hey Jude _began playing.

He turned around slowly, staring at Lily who had twisted her head to the side and was staring right back at him, sucking slowly on her thumb.

_Hey, Jude, don't make it bad - take a sad song and make it better..._

"Like that, do you?" he asked, lifting his eyebrows curiously.

She blinked at him.

"Yeah, don't tell your dad, but I sort of do too." And he really wouldn't admit it to Harry but music was the only thing he really thought Muggles did well on - and the Beatles, being English of course, were secretly his favorite. Anxiously, he moved forward until he was sitting on the couch next to her, his hand moving to rest on her stomach. "Please don't grow up to hate me," he murmured. "I'm really trying here."

She cooed up at him from around her thumb, green eyes wide.

"I really have no idea what I'm doing here," he confessed, feeling more soothed than he probably should by the comforting guitar notes - and from her soft gaze on him, from his hand on her stomach. He slid his hand down her small torso, down her leg, holding one of her feet in between his fingers. Her toes wiggled. "Merlin, but you're so small... and I feel like I'm constantly about to break you," he told her.

"But... I guess I don't have to worry about that, really," and he felt a small smile tug at one side of his mouth, tugging on her big toe and watching her attempt a smile of her own back up at him. "Because your dad is the defeater of You-Know-Who, did you know that? And he's the toughest, strongest man I know. Gonna be Head Auror one day, and if anyone asks, I told you that first."

She reached a hand out for him, splaying tiny fingers and then wrapped her hand around the finger he extended.

"You know, when he said he wanted a baby, I thought he was mad."

Her hand opened and closed around his finger and he loved her, he really did.

"But your dad is a persuasive little bugger. And I hope you get that from him too, just like I hope you're brave and strong and don't let any blonde hair little pricks tell you what to do."

The sound of someone clearing their throat from the doorway made him look up and Draco colored at being caught in such a vulnerable position - but Harry merely gave him a small smile and moved forward, still toweling his wet hair off. "Let me guess; you still haven't changed it yet, have you?"

"I -" but Draco had completely forgotten about the wet diaper and he watched with mild relief as Harry scooped up the baby and brought her to the changing table in the corner. Three days after Lily had come home, Draco'd gone a bit mad with shopping and bought a changing table for every room - a little over the top, he had to admit at this point, but right now it was coming in handy. "I was getting to it."

"Yeah, yeah. You've got mad circles under your eyes, by the way," commented Harry, thin hands moving deftly as he unbuttoned her onesie and slid it up. He paused, glancing sideways at Draco's affronted noise, and smiled again. "I like it. Makes you look dangerous."

"I hate you," grumbled Draco but he moved up behind the other man anyway, not hesitating a moment as he slid his arms around Harry's waist and rested his chin on the warm shoulder before him, watching with tired eyes as Harry worked swiftly. He was silent for a second, watching, and then softly, "You wanna know what I think?"

"That Gryffindors are actually the best for allowing sneaky little Slytherins to break their promises?"

"There's a reason I only like you for your face," quipped back Draco and he tilted his head, biting a light reprimand into the side of Harry's neck. He felt Harry shake with repressed laughter. "Are you going to let me be serious for a moment here?"

"Go ahead."

"I think... that your mum and dad would be incredibly proud of their son right now," said Draco in a soft voice, arms tightening briefly around Harry's waist.

There was silence as Harry placed the finishing touches on the diaper, his hand smoothing over the white material, Lily still sucking her thumb, and then he pulled out of Draco's arms and turned around, his hands moving to cup Draco's face. "Why do you have to say things like that?" he asked quietly.

"Harry, I -"

"No," said Harry, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again and something shone in them - something hot and fierce, protective and possessive that Draco only ever saw for Lily these days. "No, because... because sometimes I just need to hear that, you know? And... _fuck_." He pulled Draco into a tight hug, his clean smell enveloping Draco.

"I thought we weren't supposed to curse around the baby," Draco said, voice muffled with Harry's shoulder, and Harry laughed again shakily.

"She won't be able to repeat it for at least another year, hopefully. Until then, we should be good."

"If her first word is 'shit', I blame you."

"Draco, I love you."

"I suppose I love you too. Even if you are a great big soppy Gryffindor prick."

Harry pulled back and kissed him, a soft kiss with something tender in it that Draco still had trouble accepting some days, even after being together for so long.

Behind them, Lily cooed happily.

"What was that about a blowjob if I changed the baby's diapers?" asked Harry with a sly look in his eyes, one of his hands still pressed against Draco's face, his thumb stroking the soft patch just under Draco's jawline.

"Inappropriate."

"Still think my mum'd be proud of me?"

Draco loved this man so fucking much. "More than anything. And I think she would love her granddaughter to the end of the world and back."

"Of course she would; she's got her eyes."

"I knew I was right in saying you should be the donor with Luna."

Harry smiled, the corners of his mouths dimpling his cheeks and Draco hoped to Merlin that Lily got that smile too. He'd have to chase the boys away with a broomstick. And a Bat Boogey Hex. "You can be the next donor. Make us a boy next time."

"_Next time_?" asked Draco incredulously. "We've barely survived this one! The point of being gay is that you _can't_ just get the girl pregnant! How the hell would we possibly live with _two_ noisy, smelly buggers?"

"But your _hair_," said Harry mournfully, reaching up to touch the offending object. "On a baby. That would just be so sodding adorable, Draco, don't even deny it."

"It would be cute," said Draco reluctantly and Harry grinned in triumph. "Merlin," he groaned. "You're going to be the death of me, I swear. Can we please at least wait until this one sleeps through the night?"

"Deal," said Harry happily and he leaned in, kissing Draco again, sloppily this time, eagerly. "Bedroom now?"

"Put the baby down."

"She's already down."

"In an actual _bed_. My daughter is not a crup that can sodding sleep anywhere."

And Harry might grumble about that and Draco might complain about changing diapers and the idea of having a second child might absolutely terrify Draco - but watching Harry gently pick up their daughter, watching the expression on his face morph into something tender and sweet and _loving_ - watching his family there, everything that he didn't deserve and always thought he would never get, Draco knew he was the luckiest man on the face of the earth.

* * *

**A/N:** So Yakumo2112 said something about children and I just really wanted to write something about Draco using the Beatles to calm a baby even though he pretends that he hates Muggle music - and I was procrastinating for my journalism exam tomorrow and ta-da, this was born! Only seven more of these babies left, so you guys had better leave your little reviews and requests while you still can! Hope your week is going well. If not, then please take a worrying Draco and play some Beatles music - that should do the trick.

- C.


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